WHAT WOULD THEY DO
37
'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.
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.
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 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.
Fraught with richness from West to the East
Send forth to the homes in the city
Rich viands and fruits for the feast.
