Just a common ploughman
Out on Foremass brae –
Just a common ploughman,
Ploughing day by day.

Yet he is as happy
As the day is long;
Whistling you may hear him,
Or singing a song

He reins in his horses –
Down the hill go they;
He reins in his horses –
Then up, up the brae.

Marching, ever marching
In the furrow brown,
Rolling up the brown earth,
The green rolling down.

Right above the cabin
Where his dear ones bide
(White washed walls are pretty
‘Gainst a green the hillside).

He can see his youngsters
Roll and jump and race,
Merry as the lambs on
The sloping brae’s face.

Hard his hands, yet tender
The heart in his breast –
The ploughman that carols,
Lark-like o’er his nest.

MICHAEL MULLIN ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone