Happy I count the farmer's life,
Its various round of wholesome toil;
An honest man with loving wife,
And offspring native to the soil.
Thrice happy, surely! — in his breast
Plain wisdom and the trust in God;
His path more straight from east to west
Than politician ever trod.
His gain's no loss to other men;
His stalwart blows inflict no wound;
Not busy with his tongue or pen,
He questions truthful sky and ground.
Partner with seasons and the sun,
Nature's co-worker; all his skill
Obedience, ev'n as waters run,
Winds blow, herb, beast their laws fulfil.
A vigorous youthhood, clean and bold;
A manly manhood; cheerful age;
His comely children proudly hold
Their parentage best heritage.
Unhealthy work, false mirth, chicane,
Guilt, — needless woe, and useless strife, —
O cities, vain, inane, insane! —
How happy is the farmer’s life!
