One Who Rejected Christ

There’s farmers and there s farmers,

There s many a field and field,

But none of the farmers round about

Can haul such harvest-wagons out

As I from an acre s yield.

There’s plenty and plenty of farmers

That leave the ground by the fence,

Thinking it s nice if a patch of roses

Should scratch out the hay and tickle their noses

With nice little wild-rose scents.

I’m not like other farmers,

I make my farming pay;

I never go in for sentiment,

And seeing that roses yield no rent

I cut the stuff away.

A very good thing for farmers

If they would learn my way;

For crops are all that a good field grows,

And nothing is worse than a sniff of rose

In the good strong smell of hay.