Classic Poem

OR , J ACK'S AS G OOD'S HIS M ASTER

I LOVE this land of forest grand,
The land where labor's free;
Let others roam away from home,
Be this the land for me!
Where no one moils and strains and toils
That snobs may thrive the faster,
But all are free as men should be,
And Jack's as good's his master!

Where none are slaves that lordly knaves
May idle all the year;
For rank and caste are of the past —
They'll never flourish here!
And Jew or Turk, if he'll but work,
Need never fear disaster;
He reaps the crop he sowed in hope,
For Jack's as good's his master.

Our aristocracy of toil
Have made us what you see,
The nobles of the forge and soil,
With ne'er a pedigree.
It makes one feel himself a man,
His very blood leaps faster,
Where wit or worth's preferr'd to birth,
And Jack's as good's his master.

Here's to the land of forests grand,
The land where labor's free;
Let others roam away from home,
Be this the land for me!
For here 'tis plain the heart and brain,
The very soul, grow vaster,
Where men are free as they should be,
And Jack's as good's his master.