(From “The Maid of Ballalonna”)
Oh, ho, for the farmer of Ballamoot
Who works all day on the land.
He ploughs, and he sows and he gathers fruit,
His life it is healthy and grand,
Now farming is better than pushing a pen,
Or sailing a boat on the boundless main;
It may be a hard life but breeds husky men
Who many things understand.
Oh, ho, for the farmer of Ballamoot;
He works all day in the field.
He cuts and he prunes, he’ll graft and he’ll root,
Trying to better his yield.
Now farming is better than sawing up planks,
Or many a job with more money than thanks:
So here’s to the farmer, preferably Manx;
For he is our buckler and shield.
Sowing, reaping, turning the hay;
Come shine or rough weather,
Be it December or May !
Weekly Times 5.7.63