And swank! swank! swank! rings the sledge’s smite, tink! tink! the hammer’s blow.
‘Whoa, Dobbin!’ says Tim, as he pares the hoof, ‘whoa! whoa!’ as he fits the shoe,
And the click of the driving nails is heard, till the humble toil is through;
Pleas’d Matson mounts his old gray steed, and I hear the heavy beat
Of the trotting hoofs, up the corner road, till the sounds in the distance fleet:
And I depart with grateful joy to the King of earth and heaven,
That e’en to life in its lowliest phase, such interest should be given.