When I pour out my blood on your altar of labor, and lay down my life as a sacrifice to your god of toil, men make no more comment than at the fall of a sparrow.
But my brawn is woven into the warp and woof of the fabric of your national being.
My children shall be your children and your land shall be my land, because my sweat and my blood will cement the foundations of the America of to-morrow.
If I can be fused into the body politic, the melting pot will have stood the supreme test.
Frederic J. Haskin.
Typographical errors corrected in text: