And I, the slave to wash thy feet! And I, the slave to wash thy feet! Should all the streamlets cease to flow, Should all the streamlets cease to flow, Not one on earth could e'er be so. Not one on earth could e'er be so. Our strength propels the busy mills, Our strength propels the busy mills, And all the land with plenty fills,— And all the land with plenty fills,— They bring, some silver—others gold— They bring, some silver—others gold— And shield the poor from winter's cold.
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