From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 143-144.
THE KNOCKER AND THE
WORKER
In olden days the Northland Thor
Was god of rumpuses and war.
Though in his hand he held a hammer,
He was a doer, not a damner.
The knockers in our modern guild
Are out to break and not to build.
I love the man, whate’er his place,
Who strives to serve the human race;
Who works along and keeps his pucker,
Whom heat and long hours do not tucker.
He smooths rough paths for weary feet
And only stops, sometimes, to eat.
He gets right down upon his knees
And sows in grass and sets in trees;
He keeps in trim a growing garden
With lettuce, spinach, kale and chard in,
And makes the same a real success,
With vitamins mankind to bless,
Or burns, like me, the midnight oil,
Performing useful mental toil.
But darn the man who knocks and slams
And every useful labor damns.
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Come let us swat the worthless pup
Who pours these bitters in our cup.
But let us praise and praise again
Our town’s most useful citizen,
Let’s raise him up upon our shoulders
And show him off to all beholders.
In sight of all his fellow creatures
Let’s hang some laurel on his features.