Author not known

There's a bait thrown out to Labor
In the form of overtime;
One which is often taken
By the worker on the line.
To obtain it some are anxious;
Sell their body-aye, and soul--
Making time their one ambition,
Selfishness their only goal.

'Tis the truth; we can't deny it;
And must look facts in the face.
Overtime is but a menace,
Its effects we easily trace.
For the young it stays promotion,
And the rest should surely see
That abuse perchance may bring them
To those days that used to be.

There's a clock which keeps on ticking
As it hangs up on the wall;
Every movement of its fingers
Means there's something past recall;
And it sees to tell the worker
Who for overtime must crave;
Overtime but merely brings him
So much nearer to the grave.

Work and sleep; that's mere existence;
Recreation makes it Life;
'Tis a thing that's good for all men.
Meant to ease the cares and strife,
What's the use of always toiling
Just to get your clothes and bread?
If for long hours you are spoiling
You'll get plenty--when you're dead.


Published in The Footplate 14 February 1927 with the note:
--From the "Locomotive Journal." Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen, England.

No comments: