The life of the husbandman,--a life led by the bounty of earth
and sweetened by the airs of heaven.

The life of the husbandman,--a life led by the bounty of earth
and sweetened by the airs of heaven.

Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independant, the most virtuous, read more

Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independant, the most virtuous, and they are tied to their country and wedded to it’s liberty and interests by the most lasting bands

Earth is here so kind, that just tickle her with a hoe and she
laughs with a harvest.

Earth is here so kind, that just tickle her with a hoe and she
laughs with a harvest.

Ill husbandry lieth
In prison for debt:
Good husbandry spieth
Where profit get.
read more

Ill husbandry lieth
In prison for debt:
Good husbandry spieth
Where profit get.
- Thomas Tusser,

Ill husbandry braggeth
To go with the best:
Good husbandry baggeth
Up gold in read more

Ill husbandry braggeth
To go with the best:
Good husbandry baggeth
Up gold in his chest.
- Thomas Tusser,

When the land is cultivated entirely by the spade, and no horses
are kept, a cow is kept for read more

When the land is cultivated entirely by the spade, and no horses
are kept, a cow is kept for every three acres of land.

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with read more

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the Scale of Empire, ruled the Storm
Of mighty War; then, with victorious hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The Plough, and, greatly independent, scorned
All the vile stores corruption can bestow.

E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have read more

E'en in mid-harvest, while the jocund swain
Pluck'd from the brittle stalk the golden grain,
Oft have I seen the war of winds contend,
And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend,
Waste far and wide, and by the roots uptorn,
The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne,
As light straw and rapid stubble fly
In dark'ning whirlwinds round the wintry sky.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How read more

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team a-field!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!