Fremont Journal

THE HAPPY FARMER.
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
Saw ye the farmer at his plow
As you were riding by?
Or, wearied 'neath his noon-day toil,
When summer suns were high?
And thought ye that his lot was hard?
And did you thank your God,
That you and yours were not condemn'd,
Thus like a slave to plod?

Come, see him at his harvest home,
When garden, field and tree,
Conspire, with flowing stores to fill
His barn and granary.
His healthy children gaily sport
Amid the now mown hay,
Or proudly aid with vigorous arm,
His task, as best they may.

The dog partakes his master's joy,
And guards the loaded wain,
The feathery people clap their wings,
And lead their youngling train.
Perchance the hoary grandsire's eyes,
The glowing scene surveys,
And breathes a blessing on his race,
Or guides their evening praise.

The Harvest-Giver is their friend,
The maker of the soil.
And earth, the Mother, gives them bread,
And cheers their patient toil.
Come join them round their wintery hearth,
Their heartfelt pleasure see.
And you can better judge how blest
The farmer's life may be.