THE HAPPY FARMER.

SAW ye the farmer at his plough

As you were riding by?

Or wearied 'neath his noon-day toil,

When summer suns were high? And thought you 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 healthful 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 loaded wain,