76 STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



When the soldiers stubbornly went down in their hour of defeat; 

 Fought behind the trees and fallen logs to cover their retreat 

 Just a farmer. 



Just a farmer riding swiftly from a furrow he has turned, 

 Just a farmer in whose heart the fire of patriotism burned. 

 The furrow turned at Danvers at the sun's first rays of light, 

 At noon he is at Concord and has joined the running fight 

 Later on he's digging trenches in the night at Bunker Hill. 

 In the ariny's front at Yorktown you will find him fighting still. 

 Just a farmer. 



Just a farmer from the blue grass scouting southward through the wood, 

 With his horse and trusty rifle with an army making good. 

 He is following Andy Jackson and later on will fight 

 With grim and tried campaigners exultant in their might. 

 The veterans of Wellington have gathered for the fray. 

 On the ramparts of New Orleans, he made history that day. 

 Just a farmer. ♦ 



Just a farmer from Virginia and another out of Maine 

 He still is making history in trial and in pain. 

 For politicians difi'er and reach out with graft and greed : 

 A nation's split asunder; for strong men there is need. 

 To settle claims of statehood it took many a weary day. 

 He fought it out: one dressed in blue, another dressed in gray. 

 Just a farmer. 



Through the woods and cross the prairie an empire has been won. 

 Its boundaries see the rising and the setting of the sun. 

 The corn fields and the orchards all abloom stretch out to meet 

 The snowy tufted cotton fields, the golden fields of wheat. 

 Where the road bed and the train load spread their ever growing weight. 

 And living on the right of way the man who pays the freight. 

 Just a farmer. 



There's a steam ship making eastward with the flower of the land, 

 With a freight of fame and beauty and wealth on every hand. 

 Historic land that's over seas will see their journeys end, 

 For music, art and travel their wealth they'll freely spend. 

 While battling with the elements, the wind, the rain, the ice, 

 In the clearing house of nature is the man that pays the price. 

 Just a farmer. 



Just a farmer with his billion dollar crop of corn and wheat 

 With his cars of big red apples and his cargo loads of meat, 

 His cotton and tobacco, his sugar cane and hops. 

 His oats and rye and barley and his record breaking crops. 

 While the flower of the nation spends its holiday away. 

 He's wrestling from the teeming soil the wherewithal to pay. 

 Just a farmer. 



