Classic Poem

With honest hands, he toiled from morn till night,
The plumb his gauge of truth, the square, of right.

No dreams had he, no visions strange and dim,
And schools and logic they were nought to him.

He found his God in a much simpler way,
Even by doing his duty day by day,

When in the burning sun or welcome shade,
Mid dust and noise, he plied his noble trade.

For as each stone into its place would slip,
God smiled on him in sweet companionship.