SONG OF THE PRINTER.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume II, Issue 71, 6 November 1862, Page 6 (Supplement)

SONG OF THE PRINTER.

Pick and click goes tlie tyiio in the stick, As the printer stands at his case ; Ills types glance quick, and his lingers pick The typos at a rapid pace. And one by one, as the letters go, Words are piled np steady and slow— Steady and slow, but still they grow, And words of lire they soon will glow; Wonderful words, that without a sound Shall traverse the earth to its utmost bound— Words that shall make the tyrant quake; And the bonds of the slave oppressed shall break ; Words that can crumble an army’s might, Or treble its strength in a righteous fight. Yet the types they look but leaden and dumb, As he puts them in place with his finger and thumb ; But the printer smiled, and his work beguiled B.v chant lug a song ns the letters ho piled; While pick and click went the types in the stick. Like the world's chronometer, tick! tick 1 tick 1 “ O, where is the man with such simple tools Can govern the world like I? A printing-press, an iron stick, And a little leaden dye; With paper of white and ink of black, I support the right, and wrong attack, “ I pull the strings of puppet kings, And break the despot’s nose; Or lot him alone till the people groan. When I needs must interpose; Nor yet again do I e’en disdain To talk of lowly woes. " Then where is he, or who may he he, That can rival the printer’s power ? To no inonarchs that live the wall doth he give : Their sway only lasts for an hour— While the printer still grows, and Cod only knows When his might shall cease to tower.” —Ladies' Own Journal.