The light of day is streaking forth into the towered town,
The might of May is leaping north with waking scent and sound,
And down each road and up each street heroic men do drive,
With love of work, and thought-out plans, that keep the town alive.

And stepping up from underground, their faces diamond bright,
Heroic men who came by train now bid the night “Goodnight”.
They’re businessmen, investmentmen, whose purposes are pure—
To make the most of every trade, increasing profit’s store.

Along the walks, in-out of shops, they swing so free and swift,
Briefcase in hand, true news from stand, and coffee-cup’s sweet lift.
Their smiling nods, their winking eyes—those destinies of day—
Surround the sounds of “Hi!” “Hello” “Let’s go”, “I’m on my way!”

Then on they pass to palaces that wait the soul of man—
His holy, selfish motive, “I’ll do the best I can”.
And polished brass swings open, and clearest glass does spin,
As hands-on, firm, lightheartedness heroic men lead in!

And taking hallways, floor by floor, up to the very top,
Come master traders—profiteers!—whose engines never stop!
Through windows high above the town they look, and think, and see,
That all they’ve built is good, so far, but less than what will be.

The light of day is streaking forth into the towered town,
The might of May is leaping north with waking scent and sound,
And down each road and up each street heroic men do drive,
With love of work, and thought-out plans, that keep the town alive!