Reminiscences of Farm Life in Western New York, Seventy Years Ago

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He hears the distant sounds of mirth.
So to his needful toil he goes, And now his early seed he sows.
For Spring has come, the farmer know; He hears the mower's clinking whet On scythe a keener edge to set For grass with dew all reeking wet.
He sees the lark poised on the wing, Above the meadow hears him sing His joyous song to welcome Spring.
AXn XOW HIS KARLY SKEP HK SOWS.
He can't describe sweet sounds with words, The melody of singing birds — The tinkling bells of grazing herds.
He can't de
...scribe the beauties seen, In tender meadow grasses green, With wild flowers peeping out between.
And all the meadow's perfumes sweet, That come the sense of smell to greet, And make the joys of Spring complete.
Slight doubts or fears his soul harass, His troubles light, they quickly pass.
As cloud shadows o'er sunny grass.
As each deft stroke with scythe he wields He knows the earth his mother shields Those soils from want who work her fields.
He rests awhile in shade of trees And bares his head to cooling breeze, Observes the butterflies and bees, And twittering swallows flitting by, Now glancing upward toward the sky.


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