tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256623579701483043.post2826654178412773463..comments2022-09-13T06:04:26.222-07:00Comments on viruntu: chestnut...rasikaihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07673040396630699804noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256623579701483043.post-35481890483785185422010-11-20T21:48:58.632-08:002010-11-20T21:48:58.632-08:00What a beautiful poem! Chestnuts are truly delicio...What a beautiful poem! Chestnuts are truly delicious! So is this poem. Thank you for the reminder!!!rasikaihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07673040396630699804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256623579701483043.post-34218435328731742162010-11-20T08:42:02.260-08:002010-11-20T08:42:02.260-08:00"THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH"
Under a spreadi..."THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH"<br />Under a spreading chestnut tree<br />The village smithy stands;<br />The smith, a mighty man is he,<br />With large and sinewy hands;<br />And the muscles of his brawny arms<br />Are strong as iron bands.<br /><br />His hair is crisp, and black, and long,<br />His face is like the tan:<br />His brow is wet with honest sweat,<br />He earns whate'er he can,<br />And looks the whole world in the face,<br />For he owes not any man.<br /><br />Week in, week out, from morn till night,<br />You can hear his bellows blow;<br />You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,<br />With measured beat and slow,<br />Like a sexton ringing the village bell,<br />When the evening sun is low.<br /><br />And children coming home from school<br />Look in at the open door;<br />They love to see the flaming forge,<br />And hear the bellows roar,<br />And catch the burning sparks that fly<br />Like chaff from a threshing floor.<br /><br />He goes on Sunday to the church,<br />And sits among his boys;<br />He hear the parson pray and preach,<br />He hears his daughter's voice,<br />Singing in the village choir,<br />And it makes his heart rejoice.<br /><br />It sounds to him like her mother's voice,<br />Singing in Paradise!<br />He needs must think of her once more,<br />How in the grave she lies;<br />And with his hard, rough hand he wipes<br />A tear out of his eyes.<br /><br />Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,<br />Onwards through life he goes;<br />Each morning sees some task begin,<br />Each evening sees it close;<br />Something attempted, something done,<br />Has earned a night's repose.<br /><br />Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,<br />For the lesson thou hast taught!<br />Thus at the flaming forge of life<br />Our fortunes must be wrought;<br />Thus on its sounding anvil shaped<br />Each burning deed and thought!<br /><br />By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.இன்னம்பூரான்https://www.blogger.com/profile/18052778553065030060noreply@blogger.com