Classic Poem

While some with high aspiring aim
In lonely silence ponder,
And some in quest of wealth or fame
To distant regions wander, —
Let me, 'mid peace and plenty, glow
With aspirations warmer,
And keep the land from want and woe,
An independent farmer!

Our mountains high, though bleak and cold,
With ploughing and with sowing,
Have summits crowned with crops of gold,
With gold their sides are glowing.
Such scenes give Britain confidence
When foreign foes would harm her,
To rest her hope of sure defence
Upon her skilful farmer.

The morning breezes fan my cheek,
While happy hearts surround me;
And native worth and virtue meek
Adorn the cots around me.
My fields by day, my hearth by night,
My children and my charmer,
What home can boast such pure delight
As mine, — an honest farmer?

Then let us pray, " God speed the plough! "
God bless the land we live in;
May homesteads rise on every knowe,
For worth and skill to thrive in.
When plenty loads our country's fields,
What shock can e'er alarm her!
When He who rules the tempest, shields
The honest, skilful farmer!