Classic Poem

When I am half a-dreaming
And only half asleep,
When daylight's grayest gleaming
'Gins through the blinds to peep,
Oh, then I hear the dinging
Of the smithy hammers ringing,
Ching, ching , ching, ching ,
Ching, ching , ching, ching .

At eve, when I'm returning
From labors of the day,
Their forges yet are burning,
And still their hammers play,
And oft the smiths are singing
To that measured, merry ringing,
Ching, ching , ching, ching .
Ching, ching , ching, ching .

Sometimes, with rhythmic bending
Of bodies to and fro,
They toil in couples, sending
The sparks out, blow on blow,
One hammer always swinging
The while the other's ringing,
Ching, ching , ching, ching ,
Ching, ching , ching, ching .

O merry anvils sounding
All day till set of sun!
It is by steady pounding
That noblest tasks are done.
By sturdy blows and swinging,
That keep the world a-ringing,
Ching, ching , ching, ching ,
Ching, ching , ching, ching .