Written at the Request of a Haddington Hammerman

You may talk of your gard’ners and masons so fine, Their craft is so ancient, ’tis all but divine; But where were their tools or their implements made Till old Tubal Cain the grand hammer display’d? Like barbarous nations, with wood and with stone They work’d in the dark till the hammerman shone, Then the plough and the trowel on the anvil had birth, And fair Cultivation descended to earth. Descended to earth—descended to earth— Then fair Cultivation descended to earth.

He curbs the fierce steed in its fiery career, Gives the bit to the bridle—the point to the spear;— When the thunder-charged leven terrific doth play, His magnetic rod leads it harmless away. The hammerman’s art is both nice and sublime, He tells to a moment the marches of Time; Yes: the hour-telling watch, let them match it who will, We owe to the hammerman’s glorious skill.

When Bell and her tabby sit down by the fire, And a cup of Souchong is her pleasant desire, As the nice-shining kettle its melody hums, In fancy her sweetheart, the hammerman, comes! May the sons of the anvil, the vice, and the file, Have hearts pure as gold, and untainted with guile. Whether on the earth’s surface, or deep in its mines, Success to the hammer wherever it shines!