And it echoes by river, by lake, and by stream,
Wherever saws scream or the bright axes gleam,
—‘Tis keyed to the sibilant rush of the steam,
And the song is the song of the saw.
Come stand in the gloom of this clamorous
room,
Where giants groan past us a-drip from the
boom,
Borne here from the calm of the forest and hill,
—Aghast at the thunderous roar of the mill,