The Farmer's Boy
H. J. Wehman, Song Publisher, 50 Chatham St., New York.
The Farmer’s Boy.
The sun had gone down behind yon hill,
And o’er yon dreary moor,
When weary and lame, a boy there came
Up to a farmers door,
Saying: Can you tell me, if any there be,
Can give to me employ?
My father is dead, my mother is left
With her five children small,
And what is worse for mother still,
I’m the eldest of them all;
Though small I am, I fear no work,
If you cannot me employ, one favor yet I ask,
That is, to shelter me this night
From the cold Winter’s blast;
At the break of day
I will trudge away,
The farmer says, we’ll try the lad,
No further let him seek;
Oh! yes, dear father, the daughter cried,
While the tears rolled down her cheek,
For him that can labor it is hard to want,
At length of years this boy grew up,
This good old farmer died;
He left the boy the farm he had,
And his daughter for his bride.
The boy that was, is a farmer now.
And he oftimes thinks with joy—