The quarry men of long ago br Within the mines of Portland isle, br Who split the rock with wedge and scale br And swung their hammers down, br Time again with all their might br Until the stone was cut in two, br Then whisked away to build the world br When shipped from this old town. br br Chink a chink the quarry sound br The ringing echoed through the air, br The toil of men so greatly skilled br Who grafted every day, br With honest sweat upon each brow br Their brawny arms and calloused hands, br Were hardened from their labours yet br They earned so little pay. br br Chink a chink from dawn till dusk br They chiseled through the limey seam, br A band of brothers side by side br Each one a trusted friend, br Their skills were passed on down the line br For fathers taught their sons the trade, br Their sons did teach their sons the same br Until the work did end. br br For times have changed in Portland now br So few survived to show the way, br How things were done before machines br Replaced the workers there, br The fruits of which adorn the lands br And grace the towns and cities far, br Across the seas this stone be found br Those epitaphs we share.