May his purse be heavy, his heart be light,
His cattle and corn and all go right;
God bless the seeds his hands let fall,
For the farmer he must feed us all.
Comrades
There’s a blacksmith works not far away,
He is brawny and strong and tall;
He’s at his forge when the shadows lift,
And he’s there till the shadows fall.
Just when I leave the land of dreams,