so that we should suspect that we might be conversing with an angel. Bread may not always nourish us； but it always does us good， it even takes stiffness out of our joints， and makes us supple and buoyant，when we knew not what ailed us， to recognize any generosity in man or Nature， to share any unmixed and heroic joy.

　　Ancient poetry and mythology suggest， at least， that husbandry was once a sacred art； but it is pursued with irreverent haste and heedlessness by us， our object being to have large farms and large crops merely.  We have no festival， nor procession， nor ceremony，not excepting our cattle-shows and so-called Thanksgivings， by which the farmer expresses a sense of the sacredness of his calling， or is reminded of its sacred origin.  It is the premium and the feast which tempt him.  He sacrifices not to Ceres and the Terrestrial Jove， but to the infernal Plutus rather.  By avarice and selfishness， and a grovelling habit， from which none of us is free，of regarding the soil as property， or the means of acquiring property chiefly， the landscape is deformed， husbandry is degraded with us， and the farmer leads the meanest of lives.  He knows Nature but as a robber.  Cato says that the profits of agriculture are particularly pious or just （maximeque pius quaestus）， and according to Varro the old Romans "called the same earth Mother and Ceres， and thought that they who cultivated it led a pious and useful life， and that they alone were left of the race of King Saturn."

　　We are wont to forget that the sun looks on our cultivated fields and on the prairies and forests without distinction.  They all reflect and absorb his rays alike， and the former make but a small part of the glorious picture which he beholds in his daily course.  In his view the earth is all equally cultivated like a garden.  Therefore we should receive the benefit of his light and heat with a corresponding trust and magnanimity.  What though I value the seed of these beans， and harvest that in the fall of the year？  This broad field which I have looked at so long looks not to me as the principal cultivator， but away from me to influences more genial to it， which water and make it green.  These beans have results which are not harvested by me.  Do they not grow for woodchucks partly？  The ear of wheat （in Latin spica， obsoletely speca， from spe， hope） should not be the only hope of the husbandman； its kernel or grain （granum from gerendo， bearing） is not all that it bears.  How， then， can our harvest fail？  Shall I not rejoice also at the abundance of the weeds whose seeds are the granary of the birds？  It matters little comparatively whether the fields fill the farmer's barns.  The true husbandman will cease from anxiety， as the squirrels manifest no concern whether the woods will bear chestnuts this year or not， and finish his labor with every day， relinquishing all claim to the produce of his fields， and sacrificing in his mind not only his first but his last fruits also.

　　害得我們以為我們許是在跟一個天使談話。面包可能并不總是滋養我們；卻總于我們有益，能把我們關節中的僵硬消除，使我們柔軟而活潑，甚至在我們不知道患了什么病癥的時候，使我們從大自然及人間都找到仁慈，享受到任何精純而強烈的歡樂。

　　古代的詩歌和神話至少提示過，農事曾經是一種神圣的藝術，但我們匆促而雜亂，我們的目標只是大田園和大豐收。我們沒有節慶的日子，沒有儀式，沒有行列了，連耕牛大會及感恩節也不例外，農民本來是用這種形式來表示他這職業的神圣意味的，或者是用來追溯農事的神圣起源的。現在是報酬和一頓大嚼在吸引他們了。現在他獻犧牲不獻給色列斯，不獻給約夫了，他獻給普魯都斯這惡神了。由于我們沒有一個人能擺脫掉的貪婪、自私和一個卑辱的習慣，把土地看作財產，或者是獲得財產的主要手段，風景給破壞了，農事跟我們一樣變得低下，農民過著最屈辱的生活。他了解的大自然，如同一個強盜所了解的那樣。卡托說過農業的利益是特別虔敬而且正直的（maximeque pius quaestus），照伐洛說，古羅馬的人“把地母和色列斯喚為同名，他們認為從事耕作的人過的是一個虔敬而有用的生活，只有他們才是農神的遺民”。

　　我們常常忘掉，太陽照在我們耕作過的田地和照在草原和森林上一樣，是不分軒輊的。它們都反射并吸收了它的光線，前者只是它每天眺望的圖畫中的一小部分。在它看來，大地都給耕作得像花園一樣。因此，我們接受它的光與熱，同時也接受了它的信任與大度。我看重豆子的種子，到秋田里有了收獲，又怎么樣呢？我望了這么久廣闊田地，廣闊田地卻并不當我是主要的耕種者，它撇開我，去看那些給它灑水，使它發綠的更友好的影響。豆子的成果并不由我來收獲。它們不是有一部分為土撥鼠生長的嗎？麥穗（拉丁文spica，古文作speca，語源spe是希望的意思），不僅是農夫的希望；它的核仁，或者說，谷物（granum，語源gerendo是生產的意思）也不是它的生產之全部。那未，我們怎會歉收呢？難道我們不應該為敗草的豐收而歡喜，因為它們的種子是鳥雀的糧食？

　　大地的生產是否堆滿了農夫的倉庫，相對來說，這是小事。真正的農夫不必焦形于色，就像那些松鼠，根本是不關心今年的樹林會不會生產栗子的，真正的農夫整天勞動，并不要求土地的生產品屬于他所占有，在他的心里，他不僅應該貢獻第一個果實，還應該獻出他的最后一個果實。

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