The March Of The Millions. From The Manhattan Day Ode To Chicago

Hark to the march of the millions whose murmur ous work-songs arise at the dawn,
Humming and throbbing and clanking their looms and their engines till day has withdrawn,
Chaining the forces of earth and of air as their slaves for the saving of toil,
Seeking new secrets and heaping up trophies of science in spoil upon spoil.
What can withstand them, what can o'ermatch them in prowess and riches and pride?
Wonder not, then, that new millions are pouring upon us on tide after tide
Pale-fronted millions, grown bitter from holding the stirrups and bridles of kings,
Praying but light and a spade in the open for manhood that labors and sings.
Oh, for these newly born brothers and sisters, yea, for ourselves, let us ask,
Have we not grander and brighter a guerdon to offer than song with a task?
What to grow richer in gold till our eagles out number our tassels of corn,
If in the land of the eagle our souls cannot soar on the wings of the morn?
What to grow mightier, huger and greater, many as sands of the sea,
If we grow not ever better and purer, happier, gladder, more free?
Free with a freedom of sunshine and breezes, glad as the waters that leap,
Happy as love on the lips of a maiden, and pure as an infant asleep.