With the rhythm of the strokes they bear.
The cords of the sinewy arms
Stand out like the cable’s twist;
No blow shall miss and no stroke shall fail
From the grasp of the brawny fist,
As the shoulder swings when the pickax rings
And the hand springs firm from the wrist.
Let the feet of the dainty shod
Pass by on the other side,
Where the youth of the slender back and limb