A country life is sweet,
In moderate cold and heat,
To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair,
In ev'ry field of wheat.
The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers
And ev'ry meadow's brow;
So that, I say, no courtier may
Compare with them who clothe in grey,
And follow the useful plough.

They rise with the morning lark,
And labour till almost dark,
Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep,
While ev'ry pleasant park,
Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing,
On each green tender bough;
With what content and merriment,
Their days are spent, whose minds are bent,
To follow the useful plough.