THE MAN OF THE AIR
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O ruddy-faced worker astride the high crane
That rides you aloft over city and plain, What thoughts are you welding, O Man of the Air? Is God in your heart, for His love do you care? His name are you singing While lithefully swinging Astride the steel crane, O brave Man of the Air? It matters so little what language you claim, For God comprehends every tongue you can name; It matters so little what land gave you birth, For God's holy presence inhabits the earth. O handsome-framed worker, so much of the town Sweeps under your gaze as you glance boldly down, Yet all you can see from your perilous height Shall yield to the claim of your virtuous might If God's name you're singing While hammer-blows' ringing Announce you triumphant, O Man of the Air. The magnates of earth waddle under your feet With all who must walk in the close city street, While you sit enthroned in your laborer's chair, Gold-crowned by the sunlight, O King of the Air! |