The Measure Of The Man. Poem by Robert Scott Hogg

Gathered here in silence, it's not hard for us to see...
The love that binds the hearts and souls of this grieving family.
For a man, a good man, who stood so proud and strong...
A man who toiled and farmed the earth, is no more... is gone.

For a farmers work is never o'er... and the days don't seem to end.
The hardest days go on and on, when there's one more fence to mend.
They say there's glory in the sunshine, that's witnessed in the morn...
By men like him...who tend the bease and gather in the corn.

And when at last they come, to take the measure of the man
Don't look for answers in his eyes, you'll see them in his hands.
For every cut and scar you'll find, there's a story etched in blood...
By an honest man, who worked the land, in sunshine and in mud.

So fair thee well our good friend *******, you've gathered in your last...
Rest easy now, at peace this day, your time with us... has passed.
Your memory though will linger and the tales will all be told...
By the younger men who follow, who dare to hope they'll be so bold.