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 the modern race
For here, I think, I just see less
Of evil, greed, and selfishness.

My farm’s a haven—here dwells rest,
Security and happiness—
Whate’er 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.