As I rest from my toil for a space,
With my waistcoat thrown off, and my axe in my hand,
And humanity’s dew on my face!
Oh, my brethren in toil, who stand wond’ring around,
By what ties have I bound you to me?
An orator, scholar and statesman renowned,
Condescending to cut down a tree!
Yes, I know I am great, something tells me I’m good;
And I feel it’s a lofty position,
A statesman’s, who’s taken to chopping of wood,