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Under Construction |
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BLACKSMITHS NOT FORGOTTEN
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This section is dedicated to the memory of the men who worked with
medal to create items needed to help all mankind enter into the civilized
world |
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Index Page |
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The Village Blacksmith
by Henry W. Longfellow
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Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smith stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands |
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His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
This face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And look the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man. |
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Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured bat and slow
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low. |
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And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor. |
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He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice. |
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It sound to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes. |
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Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose. |
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Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrougth;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought! |
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To Return To This Page, Click On The Symbol Of The Wagon
Karl Schweikert created this wagon with it's
chimming wheels in Russia |
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