Farmer John

Home from his journey, Farmer John

Arrived this morning safe and sound;

His black coat off, and his old clothes on,

"Now I'm myself," said Farmer John;

And he thinks, "I'll look around."

Up leaps the dog: "Get down, you pup!

Are you so glad you would eat me up?"

The old cow lows at the gate to greet him;

The horses prick up their ears to meet him.

"Well, well, old Bay!

Ha, ha, old Gray!

Do you get good feed when I'm away?"

"You haven't a rib," says Farmer John;

"The cattle are looking round and sleek;

The colt is going to be a roan,

And a beauty, too; how he has grown!

We'll wean the calf in a week."

Says Farmer John, "When I've been off,

To call you again about the trough,

And water you and pet you while you drink,

Is a greater comfort than you can think!"

And he pats old Bay,

And he slaps old Gray;

"Ah! this is the comfort of going away."

"For after all," says Farmer John,

"The best of a journey is getting home:

I've seen great sights, but I would not give

This spot, and the peaceful life I live,

For all their Paris and Rome;

These hills for the city's stifled air,

And big hotels and bustle and glare;—

Land all houses and roads all stones,

That deafen your ears and batter your bones!

Would you, old Bay?

Would you, old Gray?

That's what one gets by going away."

"I've found out this," says Farmer John,

"That happiness is not bought and sold,

And clutched in a life of waste and hurry,

In nights of pleasure and days of worry,

And wealth isn't all in gold,

Mortgage and stocks, and ten per cent,

But in simple ways and sweet content,

Few wants, pure hopes, and noble ends,

Some land to till, and a few good friends

Like you, old Bay,

And you, old Gray,—

That's what I've learned by going away."

And a happy man is Farmer John,—

Oh, a rich and happy man is he!

He sees the peas and pumpkins growing,

The corn in tassel, the buckwheat blowing,

And fruit on vine and tree;

The large kind oxen look their thanks,

As he rubs their foreheads and strokes their flanks;

The doves light round him, and strut and coo;

Says Farmer John, "I'll take you, too,—

And you, old Bay,

And you, old Gray,

Next time I travel so far away."