I first saw this poem more than thirty years ago hanging on the wall of the shop of Hazen Sumney, a real old-time blacksmith in Eighty-Four, Pennsylvania.
"The Hammer and The Anvil"
Last eve I passed a blacksmith's doorAnd heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;
When looking in, I saw upon the floor,
Old hammers worn with beating years of time.
"How many anvils have you had,' said I,
"To wear and batter all these hammers so?"
"Just one," said he, then said with twinkling eye,
"The anvil wears the hammers out you know."
And so, I thought, the anvil of God's word
For ages skeptics blows have beat upon;
Yet, though the noise of falling blows was heard,
The anvil is unharmed--the hammers gone!