The blacksmith at Middleton Place is working on his pieces
He is also creating pretty art work
Everything one need in a horse barn, the blacksmith is making it too
Some decorative items crafted from the blacksmith
The blacksmith at work(ALL the photographs on my blog from Middleton Place are NOT for sale!)
I've found a poem about the blacksmith. I'm sure, some of you remember this one well from your time back in school, right? Enjoy!
The Village Blacksmith
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 hard, rough hand he wipe
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!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem: The Village Blacksmith
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 hard, rough hand he wipe
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!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem: The Village Blacksmith
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17 comments:
What a great visual tour you are giving us. I especially like the "flower art" image and the last image but all are wonderful. And, it has been years since I read that poem. You chose a perfect occasion to remind us of those wonderful words.
Thank you very much, Sue, for these nice compliment in your comment. It makes me happy when people enjoy my pictures. :)
Very interesting, I work on cars and am always interested in the way things were done years ago. My wife's grandfather was the local blacksmith in Stratton, Colorado in the early 1900's. He wore red flannel union suits all year long. He said that what would keep you warm in winter would keep you cool in summer. Can you imagine working in a hot blacksmiths shop in the summer in long underwear?
Hi Richard,
thanks for your interesting and entertaining comment :) I know now what "union suits" are...LOL.. thanks for educating me :)
What a wonderful post! The pictures and poem are a perfect pairing.
Thank you so much papercage,
for your wonderful compliment. Your words are very much appreciated.:)
I have always been facinated by blacksmiths. I think they do so many amazing things with metal and work at so extreme temperatures. It is truly an art.
Yes, DianeCA,
I agree with you and me too, I always liked the blacksmith man.
Thank you for the comment.:)
There is nothing like good old hand craft and they do it with passion which you have captured so well!
Btw: Sorry I haven’t been around for a while - fall is a busy season!
Wishing you a great end to your week :-)
thank you Renny
for your kind comment. That's fine, no problem....no excuses and apologizes, I understand! :)
Oh Susanne that brings good old memories, I remember we took school trip in the elementary school to see the blacksmith - amazing photos. Anna :)
I'm glad you liked "Mr. Smith"....:)
Thanks for the nice comment, Anna!
Susanne what a great post, love the poem as well as the images, great job.
Thank you very much Bob
for your kind compliment to this post! :)
some lovely images there Sue. I love that copper colours rose he made. Very nice
Yes, it was fun to do this little report about the blacksmith, out there at Middleton Place.
Thanks for the comment, Carol.
Great photos, I'm just a novice, but I can recognize good work; plus these images brought back memories of my childhood. My grandfather was a great blacksmith in southwest Mississippi and people came from many miles away to have special jobs done.
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