And weary weaver in the roaring mill.
Of all the hands and brains and hearts that toil
To fill the world with riches day by day,
Shall he have naught of this but what one man
Can give return for from his own supply?
Brother—There is no payment in the world!
We work and pour our labor at the feet
Of those who are around us and to come.
We live and take our living at the hands
Of those who are around us and have been.