I have plow’d the rough hill and the meadow
Till feeble with age and with toil,
And I know before long that another
Shall reap the new fruits of the soil.
For the son that hath toil’d for me ever,
And faithfully stood by my side,
Hath a hand that shall gather the harvest,
When his feeble old father hath died.
And the daughter so kind to her mother,
Shall share with him all I possess,