Augustin S. Macdonald, comp. A Collection of Verse by California Poets. 1914.
By John SwettSong of Labor; the Miner
T
The distant hill-top glowing;
The brook is murmuring in its bed,
In idle frolics flowing;
’Tis time the pickaxe and the spade,
And iron “tom” were ringing,
And with ourselves, the mountain stream,
A song of labor singing.
Unclouded skies bend o’er us,
Broad placers, rich in hidden gold,
Lie temptingly before us;
We ask no magic Midas’ wand,
Nor wizard rod divining,
The pickaxe, spade and brawny hand
Are sorcerers in mining.
To simple fare returning,
We gather in a merry group
Around the camp-fires burning;
The mountain sod our couch at night,
The stars shine bright above us,
We think of home and fall asleep,
To dream of those who love us.