| Augustin S. Macdonald, comp. A Collection of Verse by California Poets. 1914. | | | | Song of Labor; the Miner | | By John Swett |
| | | THE EASTERN sky is blushing red, | |
| The distant hill-top glowing; | |
| The brook is murmuring in its bed, | |
| In idle frolics flowing; | |
| ’Tis time the pickaxe and the spade, | 5 |
| And iron “tom” were ringing, | |
| And with ourselves, the mountain stream, | |
| A song of labor singing. | |
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| The mountain air is cool and fresh, | |
| Unclouded skies bend o’er us, | 10 |
| Broad placers, rich in hidden gold, | |
| Lie temptingly before us; | |
| We ask no magic Midas’ wand, | |
| Nor wizard rod divining, | |
| The pickaxe, spade and brawny hand | 15 |
| Are sorcerers in mining. | |
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| When labor ceases with the day, | |
| To simple fare returning, | |
| We gather in a merry group | |
| Around the camp-fires burning; | 20 |
| The mountain sod our couch at night, | |
| The stars shine bright above us, | |
| We think of home and fall asleep, | |
| To dream of those who love us. | | | | |
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