The Farmer’s Soliloquy
“Oh! for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer’s praise:
The glories of my Lord and King,
The triumphs of His grace.”
Oh! for a thousand cedar posts
To fence my garden ’round.
To hinder the neighbors’ pigs and goats
From rooting up my potato ground.
Oh! for a thousand hickory rails,
To make my fence secure;
A thousand patent locks and keys,
To lock my stable door.
Oh! for a thousand bricks and stones,
To build my chimney higher,
To keep the neighbors’ boys and girls
From putting out my fire.
Oh! for a thousand old shot guns,
That I might be a match,
For all the tramps that I can find
In my watermelon patch.
Oh! for a thousand pumpkin seeds,
To plant for my son John;
He says that pumpkin pies are good
When the winter time comes on.
Oh! for a thousand cribs of corn,
Filled chuck up to the beam;
And a thousand pails that’s good and strong,
To keep the milk and cream.
Oh! for a thousand turnip bads,
Placed all into a row;
Lord! please send a little rain,
To make the ’tatoes grow.
Oh! for a thousand tongues to ask
My maker, who’s on high,
To keep my smoke-house filled with meal,
Fat bacon, rock and rye.
Now, Lord, I close my humble prayer,
Which (to some) may seem a vision;
Numbers ask for all I’ve named,
Whilst few ask for RELIGION.
Source: African-American Poetry of the Nineteenth Century: An Anthology (University of Illinois Press, 1992)