POETRY.
A LONG FURROW IN —, IOWA.
PLorGrt the furrow out, league-long many a mile; Let no dream of idle rest, no fancy thee beguile ! Plough the furrow out, weary though thou be ! Other work for other men; there is thine for thee.
Plough the furrow right, over hill and dale !
Keep thine eyes for ever fixed straight on ' Dobbin's' tail t Worthy beast is Dobbin' there, set on oats and hay ; But he knows they cannot be, not till close of day. Onward then together, to the furrow's close ! Not till weary goal is reached, breathe the word, repose ! Plough the furrow out, do not break the line ! Many a farrow runs beside, but this, 0 man, is thine.
Fierce the sun above you, blinding heat and glare ; But the furrow must be traced ; a nation's life is there. Peasants' life, and nobles' life, and Kings' to purple born, None of them can live without the ploughman and the corn.
Ploughman then, and Dobbin,' onward, do your best ! Now the sun already slopes, sinking to the West. Shadows from the mountain-brow, lo ! are lengthening fast; And, beyond the cloud-capped heights, home is sweet at last.
A. G. B.
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