They think that we're just animals, almost,
We men who work with steel.
A lady visitor was here th' other day,
She looked at me, an' I could hear her say,
"My, what a life! I s'pose his only boast
"Is muscles!"
She's wrong. We feel
A certain pride, a certain sort o' joy,
When some great blazin' mass is tamed an' turned
Into an engine wheel. Our hands get burned,
An' sometimes half our hair is scorched away—
But, well, it's fun!
Perhaps you've seen a boy,
Who did hard work he loved, an' called it play?
Know what I mean? Well, that's the way we feel,
We men who work with steel.

A lady visitor was here th' other day;
She held her skirts right dainty in her hand,
An' as she passed me by, I heard her say,
"I wonder what he THINKS—or if his head
"Is just a piece o' metal, too!" She said
It laughin'-like.
She didn't understand,
She couldn't know that we have dreams as grand,
As any SHE could have. We wonder where
Th' rivets that we make are goin' to,
An' if th' engine wheels we turn, will go
Through tropic heat, or if they'll plow through snow;
An' as we watch, we sorter grow to care
About th' steel. Why it's as shiny blue
As j'ew'ls! An' every bit is, well, a part
Of life to us. Sometimes my very heart
Thanks God that I've a man-sized job to do!