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Rh But we, hard toilers, we who plan and weave
 * Through common days the web of common life,

What word, alas! shall teach us to receive
 * The mystic meaning of our peace and strife?

Whence comes our symbol? Surely, God must speak—
 * No less than He can make us heed or pause:

Self-seekers we, too busy or too weak
 * To search beyond our daily lives and laws.

From things occult our earth-turned eyes rebel;
 * No sound of Destiny can reach our ears;

We have no time for dreaming Hark! a knell—
 * A knell at midnight! All the nation hears!

A second grievous throb! The dreamers wake—
 * The merchant's soul forgets his goods and ships;

The weary workmen from their slumbers break;
 * The women raise their eyes with quivering lips;

The miner rests upon his pick to hear;
 * The printer's type stops midway from the case;

The solemn sound has reached the roysterer's ear,
 * And brought the shame and sorrow to his face.