1 The lovely May is coming,
All decked in glittering green;
Ye flowers, from grove and meadow,
Come, to meet your queen!
2 My friendly staff I've taken,
My little bundle tied,
And now I'm free to wander,
Where the road may guide.
3 The birds are floating o'er me,
In circles light and gay;
They soar and sing above me,
High and far away.
4 The lovely May is coming,
All decked in glittering green;
Ye flowers, from grove and meadow,
Come, to meet your queen!
Music now is ringing,
Through the leafy grove, Feathered songsters singing, Warble, "God is good.'
THE FARMER. TUNE,-"My Native Hills," p. 78.
He ploughs, for us, the field;
His hand gives food to every man ;
By him the state's upheld.
When eastern skies begin to glow,
He cheerful hies away,
And 'till the western sun is low,
Resounds his merry lay.
2 With careful hand he takes the grain,
And strews it on the earth;
And lo! the seed springs up again,
In new and beauteous birth.
And soon it rears aloft its head,
To feed on dew and rain;
Then, brown and ripe, it serves, for bread
The dwellers of the plain.
3 Then praise the tillers of the soil; .
The nation's strength are they.
Far nobler are the sons of toil,
Than flies in fashion's ray.
Go, roam the nations, far and wide,
And ask in every land,
What stays the country's strength and pride? "The farmer's honest hand."
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