My Partner

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 8, 1902

When the crops are snugly gethered, An’ the seedin’ time is past, An’ the hoarhound, brown an’ feathered, Rattles in the autumn blast; When the russet leaves a-flyin’ Make a sort o’ dreary moan, An’ the lonesome woods ’re sighin’ In a dismal monotone; When the chestnuts are a beck’nin’ Fer Jack Frost, the sassy elf, Then I like to hold a reck’nin’ ’Twixt my Maker an’ myself.

We ’ave worked along together All the fruitful season through; He has furnished all the weather— Sent the sunshine, rain, an’ dew; I have used my brain an’ labor, He has found the seed an’ land, Been my kindest, nearest neighbor, Alluz lent a helpin’ hand.

Now that harvest time is ended, An’ the workin’ days ’re o’er, Of the crops that we ’ave tended, Have I got my shear — er more?

I’ve divided up the chattels, Took the oats, an’ corn, an’ wheat, Kep’ the fodder for my cattle— Left him stubble, chaff, and cheat; When it come to the dividin’ Of potatoes an’ such crops, W’y, I wasn’t long decidin’ That I’d give ’im all the tops; But with punkins, beans, an’ hay, an’ Truck what grows above the ground, I jest thought I’d use fair play, an’ So I turned the thing around!

So there ain’t no use denyin’ That I’ve got my honest due, An’ I kind o’ feel like tryin’ It another year or two. Course I sometimes feel like sayin’ That he’s prodigal o’ rain,— That’s espesply when I’m hayin’,— But the sun’ll shine again, An’ I’ll feel ’most like confessin’ That I’m ruther weak an’ small, An’ without his help an’ blessin’, I could hardly farm at all!

—Selected.