Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/168

 The blacksmith is a friend of toil, He waits his time in the turmoil. Until the iron has turned red,
 * Then lets the blow fall quickly.

A thorough Check, without a dread,
 * A smith, and not one sickly.
 * And so, and so,
 * Blow upon blow,

Like thunder they fall on the anvil, and lo! He misses the iron by never a blow.

Bohemia is our native land, And blessed of God, with coal our land; The coal it gives us light and heat,
 * And the iron makes us strong.

Strong hands can do great deeds, and meet
 * For a heart that knows no wrong.
 * And so, and so,
 * Blow upon blow,

Like thunder they fall on the anvil, and lo! He misses the iron by never a blow.

Bohemians have been blacksmiths bold, Strong of arm, they have kept their hold, Made plows, and harrows, thrashing frail,
 * Axe and hammer, bar and nail.

With shame their cheeks were never pale—
 * They knew not such a word as fail.
 * And so, and so,
 * Blow upon blow,

Like thunder they fall on the anvil, and lo! They miss the iron by never a blow.

*