My farm, to me, is not just land,
Where bare, unpainted buildings stand,
To me, my farm is nothing less,
Than all created loveliness.

My farm is not where I must soil
My hands in endless, dreary toil,
But where, through seed and swelling pod,
I’ve learned to walk and talk with God.

My farm, to me, is not a place
Outmoded by a modern race.
For here, I think I just see less
Of evil, greed, and selfishness.

My farm’s not lonely … for all day
I hear my children shout at play.
And here, when age comes, free from fears,
I’ll live again, long joyous years.

My farm’s a haven … here dwells rest,
Security and happiness …
What e’re befalls the world outside
Here faith, and hope, and love abide.

And so my farm is not just land
Where bare, unpainted buildings stand.
To me, my farm is nothing less
Than all God’s hoarded loveliness.

– Anonymous