DRAWERS AND HEWERS

WE stand where our great-great-grandsires stood,
Working in silence—ashamed to sing.
The ax sinks deep in the frozen wood,
The buckets go to the icy spring;
We work and listen in sullen mood,
As over the valley the axes ring—
Drawers of water—Hewers of wood.

Drawers of water, Hewers of wood:
We know the story—’tis very old.
And something better ’tis understood,
Than when we molded the calf of gold
Which Moses and Aaron turned to the good
Of God—knows who: we are always sold,
We, Drawers of water and Hewers of wood.

We hewed for the temple of Solomon,
We drew for the rulers of all the east,
We hewed for the mighty Babylon.
For thousands of years we have never ceased
To hew or draw when the fit was on
For palace or church with king or priest—
Then sat at the gate till the feast was done.

The heavier work the lighter pay:
Such is the rule the wide world o’er.
For the idler, a constant holiday.
“To him that hath shall be given more:
From him that not ye shall take away
The little he hath.”Oh blessed lore!
Is there anything left for us to say?

They take the corn that they do not reap
And leave us only the coarsest fare,
With the straw, perchance, whereon to sleep;
’Tis theirs the Tyrian robes to wear.
They make the laws that they do not keep,—
Then offer to God a formal prayer,
And strangle His image for stealing sheep.

And all of the Good we hold to-day
Has cost us ages of toil to wring
From Hebrew letter, from usage gray,
And the harpy clutches of priest and king.
We work and wait for the better way
The snail-paced ages are sure to bring,—
But we grind the bayonets while we pray.

Drawers and hewers, we watch and wait,
For the brighter dawning shall come at last.
We shall find the key of the golden gate,
And take a bond for the bitter past.
And kings and prelates shall yield to fate
When none of us pay, or pray, or fast,
For the harlot wedding of Church and State.

Drawers and Hewers! be ours the blame,
If the coming ages shall still rehearse
The bloody drama with bootless aim,
Or the coward cringing to place and purse.
Lock hands for the right! The priestly game
Shall fail, when a wakened universe
Dare call the wrong by its Saxon name.