This is the song of the many
Who seldom are mentioned in praise,
The glorious millions of toilers
Who splendidly live out their days.
The millions unlured by great riches,
Uneager for fame or applause,
Not seeking for history's niches,
Forever upholding a cause;
The many who bravely are bearing
The duties of life, as they plod,
Contentedly, gayly wayfaring
With faith in their country and God.
The millions, unnoticed, unheeded,
Who cheerfully tramp to and fro;
Always found at their posts when they're needed,
Not seeking for glamour or show.
Good fathers, devoted and tender,
And rightfully proud of their young,
Yes, these are the men that engender
The spirit that ought to be sung.
Men who live for the dear ones who love them,
Their happiness being their goal,
Yes, these, though we hear little of them,
Are the men that we ought to extol.
But few in the world attain glory,
But few ever sink in disgrace,
Compared to the ones who grow hoary
In quietly filling a place.
In unselfishly, splendidly living,
And honestly facing life's test;
The many who daily are giving
The world every bit of their best.
Yes, these are the men I would sing to,
The many who cheerfully plod
O'er life's highway, contented to cling to
Their faith in their country and God.
