With hand of honest labor,
Whose plow and hoe bespeak a toil
More grand than gory sabre.

My muse will sing of such as these,
And claim a wreath of laurel,
To crown each sturdy Hercules
Whose only wish to quarrel,
Is with the forest and the field
To make them rich and fairer,
To make old mother earth to yield
Her fruits and flowers e'en rarer.

Let merchants in the busy marts
Think farmers are mere cattle,
But they who know the farmers' hearts
And of his earnest battle
With thorns and thistles scattered wide,
Like earth's destructive Neros,
Well know they are our country's pride--
Our Nation's greatest heroes.

The lily-fingered, pale-faced men
Who live by "A Profession,"
Need not despise the farmer, when
He makes some slight digression
Upon what they call etiquette;
For in his heart he's civil;
Though rough his hand, his brow asweat,
His heart is free from evil.

He toils from early morn till night,
Yet he is "Independent;"
For Nature's God defends the right,
And holds a crown resplendent
To place upon His honored child
Whose life is heavy laden,
But keeps a spirit undefiled
To enter into Eden.

* * * * *

Though brown and dusty be his garb
From wrestling with the soil,
The farmer is God's nobleman,
Made so, by honest toil.

THE OLD FARM.

The dear old farm has a sacred charm
That extends to farthest bound,
Every rock and tree is dear to me,
And hallowed seems the ground.

Its beautiful stream whose waters gleam
As they dance on to the sea,
Sings sweeter song, as it moves along,
Than other waters to me.

No leaves are so green, as those that screen
The revered old farm-house doors,
From the burning sun of torrid June
When his fiercest rays he pours.

Each grove and field doth a mem'ry yield
Of dear childhood's blissful hours,
And in accents clear, voices I hear
That have now augmented powers.

My father's care and my mother's prayer
Are now ended here on earth,
But as time rolls on, since they have gone,
I shall understand their worth.

There's a sacred charm in the dear old farm,
For loved ones have trod its soil,
And much I now see, a