Vermont Watchman And State Journal

THE HAPPY FARMER.

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

Saw ye the farmer at his plough,
As you were riding by ?
Or, wearied 'neath his noonday toil.
When summer suns were high?

And thought ye that his lot was hard ?
And did you not thank God.
That you and yours were not condemned
Thus like a slave to plod ?

Come, see him at his home,
When garden, field and tree,
Conspire, with flowing stores to fill
His barn and granary.

His healthy children gaily sport
Amid the new mown hay;
Or proudly aid, with vigorous arm,
His task as best they may.

The dog partakes his master's joy,
And guards the lonely 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 the evening praise.

The harvest giver is their friend,-
The maker of the soil :
The earth, the mother, gives them bread.
And cheers their patient toil.

Come, join them round the wintry hearth,
Their heartfelt pleasures see,
And you can better judge how blest
The farmer's life may be.