Industry

Shakespeare to Homer gives sway,
As Beowulf calls forth Hemingway.
The task at hand is a hardening,
A harrowing, a sharpening,
The workman labors at the mill,
The craftsman hones sacred skill,
The pilgrim seeks on road and rood,
While philosopher ponders the good.
I hear the call of klaxons. Rise!
Heft the harpoons to the skies,
And wrestle in the deep
Or sail beneath moonlight’s keep.
Hearth and home, lover and kin,
Must for now pass beyond ken.
The work at hand is not romance,
A saccharine song, sacred dance;
No, the furrowed field, the arena shout,
For the son to manhood to step out.
Labor on with loyal zest
To engrave honor in your family crest.
Romeo’s tipsy and Jacob’s pledge
Must recede to the tradesman’s sledge.