God bless the brawny arms of toil, The noble hearts and royal hands, That plow the plain and seed the soil, And grow the grains of laughing lands! King in the blessed vales of life Where perfect pleasures first began, May blessings come with raptures rife To crown the humble workingman! His kingdoms wave with bannered corn And meadows bright with fairy bloom, While duties of his heart are born Where sylvan shadows hide the gloom; Sweet Nature fills his heart with health, While rustic warbles lead his soul Where rill and fountain sing by stealth And breezes soft with music roll. He lives where simple wishes throng, And give contentment to his breast, While tender lullabies of song Bring angel gladness to his rest; No praises linger o'er his name Where he in silence works apart, And honor never links with fame The modest glories of his heart. He needs no kiss of royal crown To wield the axe or guide the plow, Or woo the smiles of heaven down To cling in clusters on his brow; But in the sacred shine of love, With humble deeds he lives his days, And, drinking from the founts above, He scatters gladness o'er his ways. Proud monarch of the tattered vest, Thy toil is fraught with greater gains Than his that bleeds where warrior crest Slays thousands on the battled plains! Thy duty prompts to build, to grow, The forest fell, the city plan And scatter seeds of love below, Where'er thou art, O, workingman! GIVING AND FORGIVING. 'Tis not by selfish miser's greed The great rewards of love are given; 'Tis not the cynic's haughty creed Which gladly makes this world a heaven; But tender word and loving deed Increase the angel joys of living, And mortals gain life's grandest meed By acts of giving and forgiving. Let warriors bold with armies fight Their awful battles brave and gory, To reap the harvest of their might And fill a gaping world with glory! The humble heroes, out of sight, Where hidden tears and woes are striving, Win victories for truth and right By deeds of giving and forgiving. Let mighty kings of loyal lands Despise the faithful sons of duty, And with the swords of vandal hands Destroy the homes of joy and beauty; The honest lords of low commands Will find a nobler way of thriving, In lonely vales where sorrow stands, By sweets of giving and forgiving. Let rich men with their heaps of gold Be servants of the shining splendor, And crush the bosom, poor and old, That lives by mercies pure and tender; But still the soul with saints enrolled Will keep its charity surviving, And have its humble glory told In tales of giving and forgiving.