The Village Blacksmith

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

1807 to 1882

Poem Image
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. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.

Easy Mode - Auto check enabled
  And hear the bellows roar,
Thus at the flaming forge of life
  Are strong as iron bands.
  With large and sinewy hands;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
And children coming home from school
They love to see the flaming forge,
  A tear out of his eyes.
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
  Onward through life he goes;
He earns whate'er he can
  You can hear his bellows blow;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
  His face is like the tan;
Singing in Paradise!
He goes on Sunday to the church
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
  When the evening sun is low.
  Each burning deed and thought!
And looks the whole world in the face
And the muscles of his brawny arms
He hears his daughter's voice
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
  Look in at the open door;
  For he owes not any man.
He hears the parson pray and preach.
  Each evening sees it close;
  How in the grave she lies;
  Our fortunes must be wrought;
Each morning sees some task begin,
singing in the village choir,
and sits among his boys;
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
  The village smithy stands;
Something attempted, something done,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
He needs must think of her once more,
Under a spreading chestnut tree
  With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
Has earned a night's repose.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
  For the lesson thou hast taught!
And it makes his heart rejoice.
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend