Time for a wee poem.
We
The Labouring Mass
We
the people have, every brick laid,
have
fed the world with sweat and spade,
every
instrument played in every band
created
by the skill of the craftsman's hand.
We
made every truck and every load,
our
toil our effort every winding road,
every
ship that ever sailed the sea,
our
power our imagination made it be.
Cities
and towns large and small,
our
labouring hands fashioned them all,
every
home, every spire,
luxury
mansion or humble byre.
No
matter what dreams the mind might spawn
without
labour's hand they'll never see the dawn,
without
labour's strength and labour's skill,
we
would be foraging beasts in a jungle still.