Along the hill, the old barn stands,
Its timbers weathered, worn, and gray;
The fields are tilled by patient hands,
That greet the morning and the day.
The cattle low, the horses neigh,
The chickens peck along the floor;
The farmer hums his busy lay,
As life flows on forevermore.
Though storms may come and frost may bite,
The farmstead stands in calm delight;
A symbol of enduring toil,
And of the blessings of the soil.