The Farmer
The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
The earth is young and strangely still;
A tender green is showing where
But yesterday my fields were bare . . .
I climb and, as I climb, I sing;
The dawn is here, and with it - spring!
My oxen stamp the ground, and they
Seem glad, with me, that soon the day
Will bring new work for us to do!
The light above is clear and blue;
And one great cloud that swirls on high,
Seems sent from earth to kiss the sky.
The birds are coming back again,
They know that soon the golden grain
Will wave above this fragrant loam;
The birds, with singing, hasten home;
And I, who watch them, feel their song.
Deep in my soul, and nothing wrong,
Or mean or small, can touch my heart . . .
Down in the vale the smoke-wreaths start,
To softly curl above the trees;
The fingers of a vagrant breeze
Steal tenderly across my hair,
And toil is fled, and want, and care!
The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
My very oxen seem to thrill -
To feel the mystery of day.
The sun creeps out, and far away
From man-made law I worship God,
Who made the light, the cloud, the sod;
I worship smilingly, and sing!
The dawn is here, and with it - spring!
By Margaret E. Sangster
Margaret Elizabeth Sangster was born on 22 February 1838 in New Rochelle, New York, United States of America. She was married to George Sangster in October 1858. She became a writer, a poet, and a magazine editor. Her autobiography is titled, “From My Youth Up: Personal Reminiscences” (1909). Margaret Elizabeth Sangster passed on at 74 years of age on 3 June 1912 in South Orange, New Jersey, United States of America.
The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
The earth is young and strangely still;
A tender green is showing where
But yesterday my fields were bare . . .
I climb and, as I climb, I sing;
The dawn is here, and with it - spring!
My oxen stamp the ground, and they
Seem glad, with me, that soon the day
Will bring new work for us to do!
The light above is clear and blue;
And one great cloud that swirls on high,
Seems sent from earth to kiss the sky.
The birds are coming back again,
They know that soon the golden grain
Will wave above this fragrant loam;
The birds, with singing, hasten home;
And I, who watch them, feel their song.
Deep in my soul, and nothing wrong,
Or mean or small, can touch my heart . . .
Down in the vale the smoke-wreaths start,
To softly curl above the trees;
The fingers of a vagrant breeze
Steal tenderly across my hair,
And toil is fled, and want, and care!
The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
My very oxen seem to thrill -
To feel the mystery of day.
The sun creeps out, and far away
From man-made law I worship God,
Who made the light, the cloud, the sod;
I worship smilingly, and sing!
The dawn is here, and with it - spring!
By Margaret E. Sangster
Margaret Elizabeth Sangster was born on 22 February 1838 in New Rochelle, New York, United States of America. She was married to George Sangster in October 1858. She became a writer, a poet, and a magazine editor. Her autobiography is titled, “From My Youth Up: Personal Reminiscences” (1909). Margaret Elizabeth Sangster passed on at 74 years of age on 3 June 1912 in South Orange, New Jersey, United States of America.
