The Village Blacksmith
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
1807 to 1882
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. Take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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And hear the bellows roar,
Each evening sees it close;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
Onward through life he goes;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Look in at the open door;
He goes on Sunday to the church
Singing in Paradise!
Something attempted, something done,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
They love to see the flaming forge,
You can hear his bellows blow;
He needs must think of her once more,
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
And children coming home from school
Our fortunes must be wrought;
He hears his daughter's voice
and sits among his boys;
The village smithy stands;
Each burning deed and thought!
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
A tear out of his eyes.
His face is like the tan;
Are strong as iron bands.
Each morning sees some task begin,
Under a spreading chestnut tree
singing in the village choir,
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
How in the grave she lies;
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
Thus at the flaming forge of life
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
For he owes not any man.
He earns whate'er he can
With large and sinewy hands;
And it makes his heart rejoice.
With measured beat and slow,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Has earned a night's repose.
And looks the whole world in the face