 | Moral songs |  |
THE FARM YARD.
Lo, the sun is o'er the hill top,
Lo, the morning breaketh clear
Merry sounds of mirth, and labour,
Waken in the farm yard near.
Lo, the morning breaketh clear
Merry sounds of mirth, and labour,
Waken in the farm yard near.
There the cock sits on the barn door,
Crowing merrily, and loud;
While his crimson feathers glitter,
As he shakes his pinions proud.
Crowing merrily, and loud;
While his crimson feathers glitter,
As he shakes his pinions proud.
And the brown hen walks below him
Picking grains up from the floor;
Bring the fresh egg, bring it quickly,
From her nest behind the door.
Picking grains up from the floor;
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From her nest behind the door.
There the thresher bids good morrow,
Leaning on his ready flail,
To the milkmaid, as she cometh,
Poising on her head the pail.
Leaning on his ready flail,
To the milkmaid, as she cometh,
Poising on her head the pail.
By the dun cow meek, and quiet,
She has set her stool so low,
And she sings a gentle measure,
As she makes the white milk flow;
She has set her stool so low,
And she sings a gentle measure,
As she makes the white milk flow;
Which the sweetly breathing creatures,
Standing patient, love to hear,
Never lift the foot in anger,
Never shrink aside in fear.
Standing patient, love to hear,
Never lift the foot in anger,
Never shrink aside in fear.
With his spade across his shoulder,
To the field the workman goes,
While the watchdog, his work over,
Seeks the hayloft for repose.
To the field the workman goes,
While the watchdog, his work over,
Seeks the hayloft for repose.
There, I see the horses harnessed,
Waiting by the empty cart;—
All are cheerful, all are ready,
And a thought thrills through my heart;
Waiting by the empty cart;—
All are cheerful, all are ready,
And a thought thrills through my heart;
'Tis the idle that grow weary,
Gaily rings each busy sound;
'Tis a pleasure to be active;
There's a joy in labour found.
Gaily rings each busy sound;
'Tis a pleasure to be active;
There's a joy in labour found.
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And I feel my blood run freer,
And I own it kind, and good,
That to man the law was given:
He must work to win his food.
And I own it kind, and good,
That to man the law was given:
He must work to win his food.
| Moral songs | |