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THE SMITHY OF GOD

Where is the spirit seeking the sky,As they stumble and fall, stumble and fall?What is life, if the spirit die,As they stumble and fall?
(With bitter resignation.)Clang, and the strokes of your hammer grindBody and spirit, courage and mind;Smith of the devil, well may you beProud of your ghastly forgery.Dare you to speak to heaven again,Newark, Newark, forger of men,Forger of men, forger of men?
III.(Beginning quietly, gathering certainty.)I am Newark, forger of men,Forger of men, forger of men.Well I know that the metal must glowWith a scorching, searing heat;Well I know that blood must flow,And floods of sweat, and rivers of woe;That underneath the beatOf the hammer, the metal will writhe and toss;That there will be much and much of loss

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