Ploughing

A growing day, and a waking field,
And a furrow straight and long,
A golden sun and a lifting breeze,
And we follow with a song.
Sons of the soil are we,
Lads of the field and flock,
Turning our sods, asking no odds,
Where is a life so free?
Facing the dawn, brain ruling brawn,
Lords of our lands we‟ll be.


A guiding thought, and a skillful hand,
And a plant’s young leaf unfurled,
A summer’s sun and summer’s rain,
And we harvest for the world.
Sons of the soil are we,
Men of the coming years,
Turning our sods, asking no odds,
Where is a life so free?
Facing the dawn, brain ruling brawn,
Lords of our lands we’ll be.

4-H Guidebook