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    The Farmer
    by Berton Braley

    When all the songs of labor have been sung
        (Full of the clang of steel, the throb of steam,
    The clatter of the hammers where is flung
        The fine spun bridge across the roaring stream)
    When all the chants of labor have been said
        (Deep throated chants from mighty bosoms hurled)
    Mine is the chant of chants, the Song of Bread
        I am the Master--for I feed the World!

    The toilers of the factories and mines
        The workers of the rivers and the seas,
    The heavy-muscled hewers of the pines,
        The idlers 'mid their unearned luxuries,
    At last must look to Me, aye, one and all
        Without me armies fail and flags are furled,
    Without me kingdoms die and Empires fall,
        I am the Master, for I feed the World!

    Beneath the blazing sun I do my toil
        With straining back and overburdened thews,
    Sowing the seed and reaping from the soil
        The corn and wheat and rice that men must use,
    Patient and strong I bend me to my work,
        Life eddies round me like a dust-cloud whirled,
    For this I know, despite the sweat and irk,
        I am the Master, for I feed the World!

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