Newspaper Farming

Come, all ye lowly farmers. Come, all ye granfer folk, Who in the cultivation Of wheat have gone dead broke; Since in the rural precLncts You cannot find your luck, Come here and learn the secret Of making garden truck. Hlgb up above the pygmies Wlio rush along the stroet There toils a gifted worker Upon a rnorning sheet. All night he looks at copy; All night he hamlles neivs; All day he sweats his thinker And much of wisdom brews. He grieves to think that farmer Should play a losing hand At piowing up the bosom Of unrespoiisive land, And in his grief he murmura, "With crops diversifled The farmer would be in it, With fortune for his bride." So come, ye lowly plowmen, Who thirst for something good. And learn the golden secret, For be it understood That here we have a writer Who deftly does the trick Of making country butter By the paragraph or stick.