One Who Rejects Christ

There's farmers and there's farmers, There's many a field and field, But none of the farmers round about Can haul such harvest-wagons out As I from an acre's yield. There's plenty and plenty of farmers That leave the ground by the fence, Thinking it's nice if a patch of roses Should scratch out the hay and tickle their noses With nice little wild-rose scents. I'm not like other farmers, I make my farming pay; I never go in for sentiment, And seeing that roses yield no rent I cut the stuff away. A very good thing for farmers If they would learn my way; For crops are all that a good field grows, And nothing is worse than a sniff of rose In the good strong smell of hay.