With large and sinewy hands;
But the onslaught of his cruel arms
As yet the tree withstands.
His hair is white and dank and long
His collars none can span;
His brow is wet with honest sweat—
He chops down all he can;
He won’t look Duty in the face,
But he’ll talk with any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,