| Show the farmers boxi song we enry not the princely man in city ity or in town who wonders whether pumpkin vines vices run up the bill il or down liar we ive ca care r e not ot for hia is marble halls nor kor yet his heaps of go gold we lye would not oi own it his bis sordid heart for all his hia wealth thrice told we are the favored ones of earth we breathe pure air each morn we sow we reap the golden graft we gather in n the corn we lye toil we I 1 lire lye on m what hat we lye earn and more than this we do we lye hearod hear of starling millions r round oun 1 and gladly feed them too the lawyer lives on princely fees yet drags a weary life 11 lie e never inoes a peace peaceful fill hour ills his atmosphere is strife the mer chait thumbs his yard 8 tick stick oer Grows Grow shag haggard ard athi stoil lies hes not the man god made him for why dont he be till the soil boil the doctor plods through storm and cold plods at his patients will when dead arid and gone one lie he plods again to get t ills bis berig lengthy thy bill the printer bless his boble soul he grasps the mighty earth and stamps stamp I 1 it on our welcome iel coine sheet to cheer the farmers hearth we lye sing the honor of the plou plough hp and honor of oe the be press two roble instruments of toil oil with bealh a power to bless the th bone the nerve of this fast age the wealth of human kird kiml one tills tile the ever generous earth the th other tills the mind |
