Long long hours of glorious toil
Thrust wheat and corn up from the soil,
Push all the food that’s rich and sweet
Up to our hands for us to eat.
Long days and years of toppling trees
Built million houses fit to please,
While fiercest work in tunnels low
Raised up our cities—did they grow!
Productive men and women, stand;
Think how you’ve made a promised land;
Think how your work, relentless, true,
Has given your whole life to you.
Then think of those who regulate
And cut down your production’s rate,
Who thwart and block and pinch the course
Of civil humans’ vital force.
These c’llectivists would not survive
Without your work to keep them ‘live;
Enviros, they would not be here
If someone hadn’t shot a deer.
Yes, shot a deer, pulled stones from earth,
Set mind and brawn on cabin’s worth,
And plowed through mud and planted seed,
Made nature serve his human need.
But traitors of productive man,
These hates of work-the-best-you-can,
These stoppers of desire to do,
Say evil’s born in likes of you.
You’ve ‘lected them, you gave your vote,
And now you see that you’re the goat.
You thought they valued human life,
But see their glitt’ring eyes and knife.
O men productive, now’s the time
To stand and speak; deny your “crime”,
Assert that you’ve true virtue great,
That you are right to feel elate
When virgin ground you turn and use
To bear creations that you choose;
That love-of-earth means hands-on-earth
And love of this brings joyous birth.
You are not savages, you’re men;
You are not vicious, you are good;
You are not low, but you have risen
Morally, as real men should.
Above lost priests, their gods passed ‘way,
You rise, and give the world its day;
Above Self-LESS, who’d make you swerve
And buckle, and all his losers serve;
Above the nature-freaks, who only hate
Your human mind’s productive state;
Above the vicious envy-lust
Of can’t-do men you cannot trust;
Above the faith and force of they
Who, fearing justice, will not pay
Your price, but pray you keep
Them safe, the while they lie to sleep.
Have done with them and their false creed,
Be done with all their cries of need;
Take in no more, but throw them out—
All tales that put man’s mind in doubt.
Astrology, religion, throw;
Philosophies that smile, “Don’t know”;
Sly texts of right that teach “more might”;
All sayings that deal manhood slight.
Have done with they who say man’s nil,
For you know only you have will,
And only men have happiness.
No man, and all is meaningless.
O Rational Productive Purpose, we stand
Here praising all the light that you command,
That sovereign light that brightens all our days,
That living light that works through us and sways,
And steers us straight as arrows in our flight
To master ever more within our sight;—
The hard unknown becomes familiar, soft;
The dim and distant, clearness just aloft;
The smallest little bit, a giant rock,
Whose close-held hidden secrets we unlock.
O Reason great, real man’s essential soul,
Just brother of great will, his self-control,
Productive purpose your true virtue is;
The more man thinks, the more the world’s his!