To Whom My Hand Goes Out

Above Center: My Father and Grandfather George

On the left: My Father; On the right: His brother, Russell

To Whom My Hand Goes Out

Carl Sandburg

The unapplauded ones who bear

No badges on their breast,

Who pass us on the street, with calm,

Unfearing, patient eyes.

Like dumb cart-horses in the sleet!

The unperturbed who feel the oldness-

All the sadness of the world-

Yet somehow feel the sacredness

Of grime upon the hands,

And even know the rush of pity

For the ones who know not

That some Power builds a callus out of blisters.

The eyes! The eyes that pierce

The dust and smoke of unrewarded toil

And count it gain and joy

To have lived and sweat and wrought

And been a man!

Poetry Wednesday