This is the way the glad farmer binds
All the ripe sheaves he’s able to find,
And when no more wheat is on the ground,
He laughs ha, ha, ha, and turns all around.
Hurrah, hurrah for the farmer bold
He laughs and is merry e’en when ’tis cold,
He shouts ha, ha, on an August day,
And gathers his wheat as if ’twas his play.
Oh, who would not be a farmer lad,
And clap one’s hands hard and never be sad,