How brightly through the mist of years,
My quiet country home appears!
My father busy all the day
In plowing corn or raking hay;
My mother moving with delight
Among the milk pans, silver-bright;
We children, just from school set free,
Filling the garden with our glee.
The blood of life was flowing warm
When I was living on a farm.
I hear the sweet churchgoing bell,
As o'er the fields its music fell,
I see the country neighbors round
Gathering beneath the pleasant sound;
They stop awhile beside the door,
To talk their homely matters o'er
The springing corn, the ripening grain,
And "how we need a little rain;"
"A little sun would do no harm,
We want good weather for the farm."
When autumn came, what joy to see
The gathering of the husking bee,
To hear the voices keeping tune,
Of girls and boys beneath the moon,
To mark the golden corn ears bright,
More golden in the yellow light!
Since I have learned the ways of men,
I often turn to these again,
And feel life wore its highest charm.
When I was living on the farm.
