Toiling early and toiling late,
Toiling patiently, day by day;
Joy and peace on the farmer wait,
As he faithfully works away.
Plowing, planting, with steady hand,
Singing cheerily, now and then;
Spring awaking, o'er all the land,
Makes of him the gladdest of men.
Turns he furrows where soon shall stand
Bright green ranks of beautiful corn;
Grand his mission, his life-work grand,
Though his fingers with toil are worn.
Health is his, and contentment, too,
For, fulfilling the grand design,
Treads he pathways to Nature true;
She rewards him with peace benign.
