Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1897-06-03
agricultural
THE POOR FARMER.

N~->
bare,
And in life's blessings they can have
no share.
The politicians call them, to their face
The white slaves of the Anglo-S2xor
race,
And the poor farmer, till each axe is
ground,
Must be the grindstone, ever turnins
round.
fall
Are often deep-and he must breast
them all;
They pity him because of summers
heat,
A fall in pork, or else fall in wheat;
But most of all, they pity him because
! The mortgage on his farm has not a
! clause
Which binds it closely to repay itself
But must be paid in work, turned into
pelf.
A mortgage is a friend, which helps
YOU hold
A pleasant home, with fields of green
and gold,
Until it's fairly won, and you can
clasp
An honest independence in your grasp.
They we'll might pity him who keeps
a store
With goods on credit, and bad debts
score.
Who tc,!s Ind worries, yet can never
be
But just one step ahead Of bankruptcy.
But he who steps on lard which is
his own,
Needs no more pity than the king on
throne.
What though he tolls? Life was not
meant for play,
Nor are we midges of a summer day.
And he who sees the miracle of dawn
Change into jewels all the Gew-wet
lawn,
Who hears the matin song Of each
sweet bird
Swell into waves till leaf and branch
are :lilICd.
Who, looking from his shelter through
the rain,
Sees the great bow arch earth and sky
again,
Or from his corner by the household
fire,
Sees the snow pile its mounting spire
on spire,
knowing that he has roof-tree. warmth
and food
Secure till Nature wears her genial
mood.
What asks he. more than kindly fate
has given?
Who seeks for more, would have this
world heaven.
Even when the springtime brings long
hours of toll,
He is not Gagged 18th crowds who strive
and MOL:
His broad fields are his workshop, and
the sky
Is his grand roof-tree; soft winds
wander by,
And while they breathe of hope. with
gentle art,
They sing this song unto the reaper's
heart:
He must SOW who fain would reap-
Hide the Golden treasure deep:
Many day the winds will come.
suns will shine above it's home.
Many day the rains must fall.
Ere the harvest blesses all.
Let the warm earth hide the grain,
Trust the sunshine and the rain:
Day of storm or day of cheer,
Each shall bring the harvest near;
In your heart this promise keep
He who sows shall surely reap.
The summer deepens, and sweet days
go by;
The glorious pageant Of the earth and
sky
Unrolls its loneliness, and fairer grows
Between the bloom of lilac and of
rose;
The droning wild bees find the clover
sweet,
And waves of light move swiftly DER
the wheat.
Tired with long toll, yet full of hope
and cheer,
The farmer marks the passing of the
The patient horses strive to do his
will,
The happy herds feed on the grassy
hill;
The noisy fowls throng at the house
wife's call,
Each does his part, and nature blesses
all.
Now all the forces of the earth and
sky
Have brought the triumph of the sea-
sons nigh;
The grass is brown where scythes
flashed swift and bright,
The corn grows yellow in the suns
fierce light;
Far as the eye can reach, we see IN
rolled
Wide fields of grain, with dropping
heads of gold
The stalks which gaily danced when
winds awoke,
Now meekly wait the sickle's deadly
stroke.
And breezes loiter, as they pass along,
To catch the first notes oi the harvest
song:
o, the golden harvest time,
o, the glorious harvest time,
When the earth is full of beauty,
And the year is in its prime
When the laughter of the children
And the lowing of the kline,
With our hearts unshadowed lightness
Keeps merry, ringing chimel