 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
34
MY FATHER'S FARM.
Believe me, if there's aught on earth,
That can each grief disarm,
'Tis the sweet spot which gave me birth,
When smiling memory paints its worth,
It is my father's farm.
For every native rural charm
Adorns my father's farm.
That can each grief disarm,
'Tis the sweet spot which gave me birth,
When smiling memory paints its worth,
It is my father's farm.
For every native rural charm
Adorns my father's farm.
Though fancy's flight may mock the blast,
To seek some distant charm,
How soon her eyes are homeward cast!
She roves awhile, but lights, at last,
Upon my father's farm.
For every native rural charm
Adorns my father's farm.
To seek some distant charm,
How soon her eyes are homeward cast!
She roves awhile, but lights, at last,
Upon my father's farm.
For every native rural charm
Adorns my father's farm.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |