Awake, brother miner! the stars have grown dim,
'Tis time to be stirring the sleep-strengthened limb;
The lark saluting the regions of love,
And soon will the sun flash the grey mists above:
Prepare thee to sink, though the fancy should soar;
We must to the darkness scenes of labour once more.
Come! Rise, brother, rise! and from grumbling refrain;
He who murmurs in idleness, murmurs in vain;
A sweet slumber hangs on thy little ones brows,
A love-hallowed prayer's in the heart of thy spouse;
She pleads where thou know'st she has pled well before,
That angels may guard thee to safety once more.
Arise! Brother miner! 'Twas only a dream,
That hum of green woodlands, that stroll by the stream;
Some joy-loving fairy, in portraiture gay,
Has shown thee by night what thou seest not by day.
Yet, brother, despair not; the hours will pass o'er;
We'll rise as the day wanes to gladness once more,
Suppress these deep sighs, brother, though it may be
The fate of thy kinsman is waiting for thee;
O'er sorrows untested 'tis folly to brood;
We must, like that kinsman, brave danger for food.
Then up and be stirring; like serf-men of yore,
We'll rest when we've plodded our portion once more.
Be cheerful, poor brother! Ive heard of a land
Where no over-labour e'er blisters the hand-
A land where no fetters of slavery are seen,
Where the grindstone of tyranny never hath been,
Perhaps we'll go there when our ploddings are o're.
And the we'll be weary-boned miners no more.
