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A PLOWING SONG A growing day and a waking field, And a furrow straight and long, A golden sun and a lifting breeze, And we follow with a song. Cho: Sons of the soil are we, Lads of field and flock. Turning our sods, asking no odds, Where is a life so free? Sons of the soil are we, Men of the coming years. Facing the dawn, brain ruling brawn, Lords of our land we'll be. A guiding thought and a skillful hand, And a plant's young leaf unfurled, A summer's sun and a summer's rain, And we harvest for the world. National Boys' 4-H song, 1930's? @farm filename[ PLOWSONG XX |
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