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.
I learned this poem sometime in the 1930’s. It always meant a lot to me because my paternal grandfather was a blacksmith. He died when I was five, but the poem seems to fit my few memories of him, especially the physical description. Good stuff! I have a painting by Paul Detlefsen which was obviously patterned after the poem: the blacksmith shop, the chestnut tree, the barefoot boy watching, the horse waiting to be shoed, etc. It’s one of my favorite paintings!
Just that it was a poem that seemed to mean something to my dade and he did share it with me in the 40’s when I was growing up. I believe Dad felt a kinship with the smithy. Beautiful.
You might be interested in this song about a blacksmith, by Jake Thackray. http://www.jakethackray.co.uk/content/view/106/26/
Songwriter, yes, but his songs are pure poetry. The story comes from an anecdote told by Laurie Lee in his autobiography, Cider with Rosie.
David
I MEMORIZED THIS POEM IN 1935 WHILE IN THE 5th GRADE AT ST JOSEPH”S GRADE SCHOOL IN HUNTINGTON WVA,,, IT HAS BEEN MY FAVORITE FOR 70 YEARS and I HAVE TAUGHT IT TO ALL MY GRAND CHILDREB AND GREAT GRANDS, I have resided IN BALTIMORE
A short comment to Jerry Stork..yes Jerry, that picture does actually exist. My Mother had a copy as well as my Aunt. Both are gone today, and I wish I had one of them. Whether or not that particular picture was supposed to depict the image of “The Village Blacksmith” or not is unknown to me, however my Mom and Aunt seemed to indicate it was. Both my Aunt and Mother were lovers of such poetry as this.
I also learned it as a school project..it was not assigned, but rather the class was asked to learn a poem over the Christmas Holiday..this would have been about 1941 or `42, some 60+ years ago. I will never forget the poems read after we came back to class..several of the quaint “Roses are red..Violets are blue” types, plus a few created by the individuals.. I recited The Village Blacksmith. The teacher was flabbergasted.. I believe this was the 4th grade.
I had forgotten some of the poem stanzas, and came looking for a copy to refresh my memory. (Kind of dim now at age 75)LOL
After learning this poem in grade school, many, many years ago, I seem to remember a painting depicting that poem, showing the smithy at work in front of his barn shoeing a horse. There some adults and children watching him work. Of course all this was under a very large spreading chestnut tree! Is there such a painting, and is anyone familiar with it! I have a friend who is a farrier and I would love to get it for him!
I learned this poem in 6th grade English class. My teacher made us stand up and recite it by heart. I learned it right away because I was able to connect to it. I am a big fan of this poem and of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in general. I am now a Junior in highschool and I still remember this poem word for word. I love it so much it has become a motto for me and it has also become the topic for my senior essay. I have analyzed this poem many times and each time it’s the same. I am going to college as a poerty analizer, please feel free to ask me about this poem if you’ve any questions. Thanks ~ Dominique
On this day, in County Clare in West of Ireland I talked to an 80-year old village blacksmith called Tom O’Sullivan working away at his anvil. Over the forge
is a spreading chestnut tree! And the forge itself
is on the edge of a beautiful townland(district) in Clare, beside the River Shannon, called Paradise,
near the village of Ballinacally. Absolute Gospel truth!
All I have to say is wow! The intricate detail!
Wow
-Kayte
I learned this poem in Grade
school also. Have always wondered if my family was a decendent of Henry. Only found out he had two sons the past year, so it is possible. Would like to know anyone who know the family tree?
I guess I am not the only one who had to memorize this poem for school!!! I memorized it (with actions!) in fifth grade. I think it is VERY well written. I still can recite almost the whole thing. This poem will always hold many happy memories for me.
I work in a Nursing home, an 84 yr.old patient was reciting this poem to me and couldn’t remember the proper order of the stanzas. I looked this up on your website, will print it and take it to work on Mon. with me. Thank-you for helping to orient a wonderful man and to re-introduce me to this great poem.
When I received the Connecticut State Quarter, the chestnut tree reminded me of the poem and, like others, induced me to to go to the Internet to read it once again. I, too, had to recite the first t
wo stanzas fom memory in grade school.
I absolutely abhor the awful layout of this poem. I would’ve put the first line after the third line and the fifth line after the ninth. Now that is just sad! You need to tell Henry Wadsworth to rewrite this awful piece of work.
I LEARNED THIS POEM IN THE 5TH GRADE & IT HOLDS A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART. I JUST GOT A COMPUTER & ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS I THOUGHT OF WAS TO LOOK IT UP BECAUSE I’D FORGOTTEN A LOT OF IT. THIS IS GREAT!
Hi, I’m a third generation blacksmith in Hamilton and never tire of this poem.
As we live we shall be seen, as we’re seen we are judged,
Honest toil aint the half of it, you can almost hear it all.
“hard”, rough hand not “haul”
This is an old favorite of mine.
a very beautiful poem summarising the honesty and sincerity of common people like the blacksmith.
I fine this poem to be one of the best ever, today a friend bought a book of the 100 best poem and this one was not in it, i guss it all depends on who doing the review, i learn this poem over 40 yrs ago and still remember most of it, will memorise it once more, LDD.
I remember much of this poem from my childhood This poem has remained to help me understand a deeper meaning for existance. No person is perfect but the village smithy is a beautiful example for all people of what comes close.