Hay In the Barn

He worked all day

     Out in the field;

His crop of hay

     Was one fine yield.

And he felt gay

     (This is no yarn)

When all his hay

     Was in the barn.

He didn’t know

     A deal of art;

In pomp and show

     He played no part.

But joy his lot,

     And wide his grin,

Because he’d got

     His hay all in.

And you, my friend,

     What e’er you do,

Should keep this end

      Fore’er in view

Are you a clerk,

     Or actor gay,

Keep hard at work

     And make your hay.

Are you a king

     Or peasant plain

The barn’s the thing

     For all your grain.

While shines the sun

     Just make your hay;

Then when it’s done

     Stack it away.

July 24, ‘10