SONG OF THE FARMER
I have cattle that feed in the valley,
And herds that graze on the hill;
And I pride in the fruits of my labor.
For I'm lord of the land that I till.
I have plow'd the rough hill and the meadow.
Till feeble with age and with toil;
And I know, before long, that another
Shall reap the new fruits of the soil.
For the son that hath toiled for me ever.
And faithfully stood by my side;
Hath a hand that shall gather the harvest
When his feeble old father hath died.
And the daughter, so kind to her mother,
Shall share with him all I possess;
For I feel that they love me as father.
And welcome my tender caress.
There's my faithful, my trusting companion,
My kind-hearted, dear, loving wife;
I have toiled for her comfort with pleasures,
For such was the pride of my life.
And still in my manhood I love her,
For her kind and affectionate care;
And all that the earth can afford me,
With her I most willingly share.