Witheren - The Road Builders Lyrics

I saw them toiling in the blistering sun
Their dull, dark faces leaning toward the stone
Their knotted fingers grasping the rude tools
Their rounded shoulders narrowing in their chest
The sweat dro's dripping in great painful beads
I saw one fall, his forehead on the rock
The helpless hand still clutching at the spade
The slack mouth full of earth

And he was dead
His comrades gently turned his face, until
The fierce sun glittered hard upon his eyes
Wide open, staring at the cruel sky

The blood yet ran upon the jagged stone
But it was ended. He was quite, quite dead
Driven to death beneath the burning sun
Driven to death upon the road he built
He was no "hero", he; a poor, black man
Taking "the will of God" and asking naught
Think of him thus, when next your horse's feet
Strike out the flint spark from the gleaming road

Think that for this, this common thing, The Road
A human creature died; 'tis a blood gift
To an o'erreaching world that does not thank
Ignorant, mean and soulless was he? Well

Still human; and you drive upon his corpse