Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.

Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.

Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independant, the most virtuous, read more

Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independant, the most virtuous, and they are tied to their country and wedded to it’s liberty and interests by the most lasting bands

Look up! the wide extended plain
Is billowy with its ripened grain,
And on the summer winds read more

Look up! the wide extended plain
Is billowy with its ripened grain,
And on the summer winds are rolled
Its waves of emerald and gold.

And he gave it for his opinion, "that whoever could make two ears
of corn, or two blades of read more

And he gave it for his opinion, "that whoever could make two ears
of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground
where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and
do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of
politicians put together."

Earth is here so kind, that just tickle her with a hoe and she
laughs with a harvest.

Earth is here so kind, that just tickle her with a hoe and she
laughs with a harvest.

The diligent farmer plants trees, of which he himself will never
see the fruit.
[Lat., Abores serit diligens read more

The diligent farmer plants trees, of which he himself will never
see the fruit.
[Lat., Abores serit diligens agricola, quarum adspiciet baccam
ipse numquam.]

E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have read more

E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have I seen the war of winds contend,
And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend,
Waste far and wide, and by the roots uptorn,
The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne,
As light straw and rapid stubble fly
In dark'ning whirlwinds round the wintry sky.

Adam, well may we labour, still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower.

Adam, well may we labour, still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower.

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with read more

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the Scale of Empire, ruled the Storm
Of mighty War; then, with victorious hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The Plough, and, greatly independent, scorned
All the vile stores corruption can bestow.