Our father was a farmer,
His heart was in the soil
It’s there he found his solace,
Among the grimy toil.
He planted the seed in springtime,
The spuds, the beans, the hay,
He prayed that God would bless them,
A harvest, Lord, he prayed.
He tilled and cultivated them,
Provided the most tender care,
Believed that come October,
He’d reap a harvest fair.
Blue skies were his cathedral,
A tractor, his altar of prayer,
God met him in the hayfields,
They had communion there.
Our father was a farmer
That’s all he ever was.
The values that the land taught him,
He handed down to us.
We loved our farmer father –
We’re thankful, he was ours,
We pray that God will bless him,
Today and for all time.