title: The Village Blacksmithkey: Generalharp type: Chromaticgenre: Cskill: AnyW: Henry Wadsworth LongfellowM: W.H. WeissVictorian parlor songKey: C3 4 4 -4 4 -5 4 -4Un-der a spread-ing chest-nut tree-3 3 -3 3 2 -1The vil-lage smith-y stands;2-2 3 4 -4 4 -5 4 -4The smith, a might-y man is he,3 -3 4 2 -2* 3With large and sin-ewy hands;3 -3 -3* -3* 4 -3* -3 3 -2And the mus-cles of his brawn-y arms-3 -5 -3 -4 4 -4Are strong as ir-on bands. 4-5 6 -4 4 -3 3* 2 2His hair is crisp, and black, and long,-3-4 4 -3 6 5 -4His face is like the tan;-4 4 4 -4 4 -5 3 3His brow is wet with hon-est sweat,3* -3 -1 3 1 -3He earns what-e’er he can,-4 4 4 -5 6 2 2 2And looks the whole world in the face,-3 -3 3 4 -5 6 5For he owes not an-y man. Week in, week out, from morn till night,You can hear the bellows blow;You can hear him swing his might sledge,With measure beat and slow,Like a sexton ringing the village bell,When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from schoolLook in the open door;They love to see the flaming forge,And hear the bellows roar.And catch the flaming sparks that flyLike 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 choir,And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like his mother’s voice,Singing in Paradise!He needs must think of her once more,How in the grave she lies;And with his hard, rough hands he wipesA tear out of his eyes. Toiing, — rejoicing, — sorrowing,Onward in life he goes;Each morning sees some task begin,Each evening sees it close;Something attempted, something done,Has earned his night’s repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,For the lesson thou has taught!Thus at the flaming forge of lifeOur fortunes must be wrought;Thus on its sounding anvil shapedEach burning deed and thought.