Here are the fields that he tilled so long
More fertile than when he began.
Here are the fences he built
In long straight stretches, span on span.
Here stands a tree that he let grow
To furnish shade for the summer stock;
And buildings weather-tight, and snug,
For the comfort of the herd and flock.
Here is the evidence of care,
That shows as plainly as a chart,
Regardless of what else he did
He was a farmer, still at heart.
November would go, and it would seem
That he who lived with the rain and sun,
Who watched with joy the growing crops,
Should rest a while, the harvest is done.