Poems (Merrill)/What Would They Do?

by Clara A. Merrill

WHAT WOULD THEY DO?

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'Tis true that the city is pleasant, With its scenes ever varied and new; But if it were not for the country Oh, what would the city folks do? Soon plenty would be superseded  By dearth with its train of distress; The gaunt wolf would roam by the once happy home  Though riches untold you possess.

True, this may seem strangely in error,  But doubtless, if you will take heed You'll find that the sources are rural  Of that which supplies every need. You say there are great mills and factories  By whose process rich fabrics are made; But pause for a moment and ponder  How the material first came into trade.

Of Fashion's apparel so dainty, Of which our great stores are so full; Whence comes that from which they were made— The cotton, the silk and the wool? 'Tis not from the city—no, never!  But from the free sunshine and air On the broad, verdant acres extending  O'er the glorious country so fair.

Tis true that the city has pleasures,  And aspirants to fashion and fame,—But yet, should you search the world over  You'll find it is ever the same. 'Tis the toil-harden 'd hand of the farmer  By which are the multitude fed,—Yea, the farmer—the "hard-handed" duffer, Who supplies the vast cities with bread.

'Tis the farmer who toils on, unheeding  The mid-summer sun and the rain,Who with diligence plucks the tares from the wheat  And garners the golden grain. From the forests afar down the valley  Or up over mountainous height Is sent timber for use in the city,  And fuel to make the hearths bright.

The orchards, the fields and the mead lands  Fraught with richness from West to the East Send forth to the homes in the city  Rich viands and fruits for the feast. True, the brilliant paved streets are abounding  With wonders and charms ever new—But, if from the country excluded  Oh! what would the city folks do?

Then have praise and respect for the farmer— Be cordial to him when you meet—Ne'er pass him with countenance scornful  Or gaze at the "old codger's" feet, Though he has not the costly apparel  Which you wear with such elegant grace—Remember, you can't live without him  Nor can aught in the world fill his place.