Poor laborers they did sad bewail,
When the machine displaced the flail,
There's little work now with the hoes.
Since cultivators weed the rows.
Labor it became more fickle,
When the scythe took place of sickle,
Labor still it did sink lower,
By introduction of mower.
And the work was done much cheaper
When they added on the reaper,
Another machine to it they join,
Mower, reaper, binder, all combine.
Machines now load and stow away,
Both the barley and the hay,
And the farmers do get richer
With the loader and the pitcher.
There's very few men now hand sows,
No more broad cast the grain it grows,
They sow and rake by the machine,
Hand labor is 'mong the things have been.
Armed with scythes the old war chariot,
Cut men down in the fierce war riot,
Round farmers' chariot fall the slain,
But 'tis the sheaves of golden grain.