Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,–rejoicing,–sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
My mother, age 93, called me and mentioned that something was really bothering her. She said she had to memorize this poem in school, and now she could only remember bits and pieces of it. This is why I came to your website. I printed the poem and will send it to her. Thank you. Joan
Though there is till much prolem in completely understaning it. I have a balcksmith Uncle.
So this poem somethimes soothes me.
it is a beatiful poem and a symbol of a mans toil in this world. being a machine shop owner and blacksith by trade I can relate to the poem. Here is my problem.I am looking for a picture of the blacksmith in the header of this poem. I believe he is at the anvil inside the outline of his shop. any help would be great. thanks for your time! leon
I work in a nursing home and one of the residents has a “Village Blacksmith” picture in her room. She said that it reminds her of her father because he was a blacksmith. She remembered part of the poem but not all of it. I looked it up so I could read her the poem. I know it will mean alot to her. Thank you for having such a great website.
I have always enjoyed the old poetry, but this one has special meaning because I am a blacksmith and farrier. There is something satisfying in honest, hard work.
i love that poem
this poem is amazing.
Brings vivid images to my mind. Awesome imagery.
IN 1944 IN 4TH GRADE IN SHELOCTA,PA I LEARNED THIS POEM ALONG WITH OTHERS MY SISTERS WERE LEARNING IN 8TH GRADE.(OH-CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN) (OLD IRONSIDES)(BAREFOOT BOY)(SONG OF HIAWATHA)(TREES).WILL BE 70 THIS JUNE AND STILL REMEMBER SOME OF THEM,THE OLD MASTERS WERE THE BEST.I WRITE POEMS NOW AND AGAIN BUT CAN NOT COMPARE WITH THEM CLARENCE J. SKINNER
While doing my genealogy, I came across a personal letter to my aunt who did the genealogy for the entire family (being mormon and all). He remembered my great-grandfather who was a blacksmith in the town where Mr. Wadsworth grew up. Although the physical description was a bit off I think she was trying to convince the family this was her grandfather for sure. Interesting
anyways. My great grandfather help build the conastoga
wagons for the Mormons who left Illinois for Utah those
many years ago. Finding the Mormons good and honest people he decided to join their church. They were marvelous men who stood up to the Indians. I feel lucky to have the hand-written letters from these people who of course are no longer with us.
I love poetry about blacksmiths. My father is a blacksmith and shoes horses for a living, although he is getting older and can’t handle the labor as well as he once did. Reading poems such as this makes me see my father as more than a man, almost a myth. He has always been my hero, he lives in these verses as he lives in my heart: as a hero.
I also had to memorize this poem, a difficult task for a very shy 6th grader who had to stand in front of Mrs. Miller’s class to recite it if I wanted to get an A. The words have come back to me countless times through the years. Thanks, Mrs. Miller, I’ve grown to understand and love the poem..but I still would not enjoy reciting it in front of a crowd!
I have recently met a person who shoes horses for a living. Today as I was talking to him, Ithought of this poem.
I can’t tell you how many memories it brought back to me. We learned this poem in the 5th grade and I never forgot it. The poem spoke to me so much that a tear came to my eye. Life should still be so simple for us, but it is not. God and family should always come 1st in our lives, but sometimes the daily grind gets in our way. God forgive us.
doooodes this is an awsome poem i luv it i know it by memory!! hahaha byebye luv ya’lls im from texas too hehe
My grandfather was a blacksmith in a little town in Texas many years ago. I’m in my late 60’s and have looked for this poem a long time. I’ve just recently gotten a computer and so glad I’ve found it. I also had to learn it in school.
As a small child,sitting on my daddy’s lap, he’d recite this poem.He was taught this poem in the 3rd grade in 1923. He never forget it. Then he taught to me and I’ve never forget. I can still hear him. He’s passed on now but what I’ll remember are the times I shared with him recited this poem. Now I’m passing it down to my children.
We had to memorize this poem in Mrs. Singleton’s 6th grade class in 1957. Needless to say from all of the comments above, this poem had made its impression on me and my entire life. God bless Mrs. Singleton who probably had the greatest single effect in my life.
This poem was contained within a text book, I think – English Grammar, when I was in the Sixth Grade of elementary school. My teacher the year I attended this school did not require us to memorize the poem, but a playmate who attended the following year was required to do so. The teachers had changed. He was having a hard time with the memorization and I tried to help him. As a result, I became quite well acquainted with the poem, and came to love it. To my mind, it tells the story of a honest, hard working man who knows his trade and revels in his work. It teaches a good lesson to the young: There is great rewards personally in honest, sweat breaking, hard work. To my mind it is one of the great American poems from a great poet.
I have the original book of The Village Blacksmith Illustrated in excellent condition @ 1885 Does anyone know the value? Thanks, Ann
It is with a bit of nastalgia that I read this and other poems that the last two generations do not know. My father and my maternal grandfather were blacksmiths. As a very young child I remember watching them work at the anvil and forge. I loved to see the sparks fly when the hot metal was first struck after being taken from the forge. My brother and I used to try to catch the sparks. I also imagined the fireflies at night to be the sparks from the forge of nature as the master smith struck the metal from which all existence is made. My mother was a school teacher who was one of those who required pupils to memorize the poem and others now long forgotten. Now I write poems of my own. Modern poets do not get the mood of poetry as I know it. They do not put enough latent images that must be developed by the reader.