Oh, who shall sing the steadfast heart that keeps the farmhouse warm?
Not wind nor rain, nor spiteful hand shall break her steadfast form.
Through dawning light and twilight dim, she treads the flagstones old,
Where kettle hums and oven glows, and bread is baked in gold.
She wakes before the cock has crowed, before the cows give call,
With apron tied and hair pinned high, she heeds the farmstead’s thrall.
The butter churn, the kneading board, the dough beneath her hand,
All spin the wheel of work and love that steadies home and land.
She tends the babes with lullaby, she mends the farmer’s coat,
She sets the fire against the frost, the broth against his throat.
The farm dogs rest beside her feet, yet stir at morning’s peal,
For well they know her guiding voice is sharper than the steel.
The chickens cluck, the robins flit, the wrens weave nests anew,
For hedgerow, wall, and garden plot all blossom ‘neath her view.
The cabbage thick, the carrots bright, the herbs in ordered rows,
She keeps them all with careful hand, and still the baking flows.
Upon the lintel roses climb, their petals soft with dew,
While stone walls stout and ivy-clad hold secrets old and true.
Through garden gate and orchard path the scent of honey sways,
And where her fingers plant the seed, the earth gives forth in praise.
Yet lo! A shadow at the door, a whisper from the gate,
A grasping hand, a prying eye, the taxman tall and straight.
"Your hearth is warm, your table full, your barns brim bright with store,
And what you have, by right of crown, should now be ours the more!"
But laugh she does, and scorns his greed, and wipes her hands so clean,
"For every loaf, for every yield, was wrought by toil unseen!
Not yours the sweat, nor yours the care, nor yours the season’s fight,
So take your parchment, take your pen, I'll keep my hearth alight!"
And so she stirs the rising dough, and so she steeps the tea,
While outside, past the garden wall, the world turns wild and free.
For empire shifts, and tyrants fall, and gold will turn to rust,
But warm shall beat the farmer’s hearth, and strong shall stand her trust.
(By John Shenton)