SATURDAY ON THE FARM.

By Edwin Carty Ranck

‘ Tis Saturday morn and all is bright

By nature's own endowing;

The sun is fiercely giving light,

And only me —

Plowing.

Across the river I hear the sound

Of a boatman slowly rowing;

I have no time to fool around,

Especially when I'm —

Hoeing.

And when the dinner hour has come,

And thoughts of work are fleeting,

I only hear the insects hum,

Because I'm busy —

Eating.

At night when all things are at rest,

Safe in Old Morpheus’ keeping,

No troubles do my mind infest,

For I am soundly —

Sleeping.