Who dares despise the farmer,
Or mock his honest toil?
Are not we all dependent
On produce of the soil?
For, where would be the merchant,
And where the wealthy guy,
Did not the busy farmer
Their vital wants supply?

The stores would soon be empty,
And ‘gents’ of hunger die,
For what about their money
With no provisions nigh!
The money, though a blessing,
‘S no substitute for food;
In famine, its possession
To men is little good.

The artful politicians,
Who make the nation’s laws,
Be mindful of the farmer
And patronise his cause.
Remember ‘tis your duty
To argue on his side,
Since all your fancy dinners
He labours to provide.

And damp your pride a little,
All ye of pomp and show;
Be grateful to the farmer,
Nor count his calling low;
For, by the sweat of toiling
He earns his daily bread,
And on fruits of harvest
The nation’s hosts are fed.

H. Calderwood, Cullybackey, 28th May 1926

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