Already steals with cheering ray;
Let's to the forge, and wake the morn
With boist'rous voice and jocund lay ! Bellows, blow; and furnace, smoke;
Bend the glowing metal soon !
Hammer, fall with telling stroke !-
Sing to my anvil's merry tone.
Pong, pong-
"Strike while the iron's hot !" With lusty stroke my hammer rings
Strike hard ! 'tis for your chubby boy,
"Who to his mother fondly clings,
And trills his cooing note of joy. Thanks to the sweat that bathes my face,
The paths of learning he shall tread,
And knowledge make her dwelling-place ,
"Within my darling's fair young head ! Labor unto the heart gives ease,
And will our daily bread supply;
It decks the charms of my Therese,
My wife, my household deity ! Our hands were never formed to make
Muskets or sword-blades, belts or chains ;
God gave us arms for Labor's sake ;
Our minds He for Love's work ordains ! Now all who day by day pursue
Some darling hope, some cherished end-
Old hearts, who have bat power in view,
Young hearts who Love's soft call attend ; Men, who would wield the sword or pen-
Sages and fools-peasants and kings-
If you'd succeed, take as the word
Of wisdom what my anvil rings-
Pong, Pong, Pong!
"Strike while the iron's hot!" Notes From the South Australian Newspaper The Express and Telegraph 29 Jun 1881 p. 1.