The Farmer's Soliloquy

"Oh! for a thousand tongues to sing
 My great Redeemer's praise;
The glories of my Lord and King,
 The triumphs of His grace."


Oh! for a thousand cedar posts
 To fence my garden 'round,
To hinder the neighbors' pigs and goats
 From rooting up my potato ground.


Oh! for a thousand hickory rails,
 To make my fence secure;
A thousand patent locks and keys,
 To lock my stable door.


Oh! for a thousand bricks and stones,
 To build my chimney higher,
To keep the neighbors' boys and girls
 From putting out my fire.


Oh! for a thousand old shot guns,
 That I might be a match,
For all the tramps that I can find
 In my watermelon patch.


Oh! for a thousand pumpkin seeds,
 To plant for my son John;
He says that pumpkin pies are good
 When the winter time comes on.


Oh! for a thousand cribs of corn,
 Filled chuck up to the beam;
And a thousand pails that's good and strong,
 To keep the milk and cream.


Oh! for a thousand turnip beds,
 Placed all into a row;
Lord! please send a little rain,
 To make the 'tatoes grow.


Oh! for a thousand tongues to ask
 My maker, who's on high,
To keep my smoke-house filled with meal,
 Fat bacon, rock and rye.


Now, Lord, I close my humble prayer,
 Which (to some) may seem a vision;
Numbers ask for all I've named,
 Whilst few ask for religion.