Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming furge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church
and sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice
singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!
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Comments
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I remember the local blacksmith when I was young, long gone now. This poem always reminds me that satisaction with life has to be earned, just as the blacksmith earned his rest. A simple lifestyle in uncomplicated times we cannot enjoy anymore, Progress has taken it from us.Longfellow left us all a message in his poetry.
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I love this. I also have the illustrated treasury of chidren's literature (1st edition) My uncle bought it for me when I was 5 years old. It has "I have a little shadow" one of my favorites to this day. My father used to read The blacksmith to us ... but his own version to make us laugh. Something about "arms like rubber bands" lol. Thanks for posting this
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another
poem out of my greatly loved illustrated treasury of childrens literature. i miss a time i was never a part of, and the life of simple necessary accomplishments which meant the difference between life and death in a time much harder than ours. no time for the self-indulgence of why and how. i love this poem of a noble honest man. i wish i could be as good as he
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