The Farmer.

Let nations encircle the brows of the brave             With glory the greatest that glitters below,         Who make in the blood of the battle a grave             For all that are found in the ranks of the foe;         But I from the greatness, the grandeur, and gleam,             Would turn to the light of clear-glowing hearth,         And choose from his joy for the soul of my theme             The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.         Let millions give worship to riches and wealth,             That gay in their brilliancy sparkle and gleam,         And serve with the hands of their happiest health             The haughty who idle and revel and dream;         In hall or in hamlet, in cottage or cave,             Or sickened with sorrow or maddened with mirth,         There's none I shall serve with the will of a slave             But the farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.         Let poets in praises heart-swelling and sweet             With rapture that rises in beautiful song,         Make sages immortal and ages replete             With hundreds of heroes who wrestled the wrong;         All honest men well from the Muses may claim             The numbers that murmur to merit and worth,         And so I would fold in the mantles of fame             The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.         Let orators over the deeds of the great             Re-echo the tributes of tenderest praise,         And over the ashes that slumber in state             Let peoples their marbles and monuments raise;         But I, from the frenzied applauses uncouth,             To those who are chained in the bondage of birth,         Would flee to surround with the lilies of truth             The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.         Let hearts that are grateful in gratitude crown             The friend of the many and foe of the few;         Let souls in their secret admiring enthrone             Whatever a martyr or minion may do;         But down in my bosom while reasonings reign,             Of friendship and love there is never a dearth         For him who is toiling in pleasure or pain,             The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.