Classic Poem

Hear ye the song of the hoe,
And hear ye without scorn;
The ring of my blade on the hill or the glade
Is music to the corn.
And the old heart of the hill,
It pulses with the thrill,
And sends its sap aflow;
And it flows into the corn,
And a gladder life is born
When it hears the song of the hoe.

Hear ye the song of the hoe.
And what is the song I sing?
'Tis a sweeter rune if your ear is a-tune
Than the harper's song to the king;
'Tis a song of joy, not of tears,
How the earth for a million years
Will bud and blossom and grow,
And still be glad and young
Whenever my song is sung,
When it hears the song of the hoe.
Hear ye the song of the hoe.
I sing of the things I hear;
The thoughts down deep in the old earth's keep,
Are whispered in my ear.
And the corn can understand,
And it tells the smiling land
(Far doth the message go),
The thoughts that have their birth
From the old young heart of the earth,
That are sung in the song of the hoe.

Hear ye the song of the hoe.
'Tis an honest song and true,
And good for men again and again,
And good for you and you.
It sings of the deep-down things.
Of the world's first lore it sings,
The world-heart's overflow;
And it tells your sallow brood
The heart of the world is good—
Then hear ye the song of the hoe.

Hear ye the song of the hoe
That floats with the smell of the soil,
That tells of the wealth of the old earth's health,
Of the metre and music of toil.
And this is the core of its song,
That the earth is made for the strong,
Nor yields up its wealth to the slow;
And that labor is love and delight
To those who are fain for the fight—
Then hear ye the song of the hoe.