To hands that toil from dawn till night,
In sun's harsh blaze or fading light,
You build the world we proudly see,
With silent strength and dignity.
You mend the roads, you sow the land,
With weathered skin and calloused hands.
Your sweat is ink on history's page,
Your spirit—brave, no gilded cage.
No marble hall, no silver throne,
Can stand without the stone...
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