OH, give me the joys of the farmer boys,

In the meadows and fields so bright; 

'Among the cattle, and herds, and the singing birds,

And the daisy blossoms white. 

The note of the horn as it, sounds each morn,

Is the music sweet to me; 

And the dews distilled from the amber rills,

The gems I love to see.

Oh, give me a home if ever I roam 

Where plenty and comfort abide; 

And the ceaseless song of industry's throng,

Fills the soul with feelings of pride. 

The sweat of the brow, while holding the plow,

Brings riches of rigor and health; 

Contentment and peace each day will increase,

Thus giving invaluable wealth.

O knights of the soil! Ye champions of toil!

The world is moved by the plow; 

The sickle and flail they never will fail 

Each man is obliged to allow. 

So manfully fight like a conquering knight,

For labor wins the prize; 

And the hand of toil, though tanned and soiled,

The bread of the world supplies.