Come kiss heaven's hand and give a warm embrace;
Soil the roots of wisdom unto this desolate earth.
A barren land you blisfully sow high hopes,
plant with joy a prosperous toil reaped with dirty bones.

Sacred be your pastures green labored hard and long;
Blessed are the grounds in which you now step upon.
For valued is the meadow that your hard-work built,
nothing is ignored now for decent work dispels all guilt.

The spirit does appreciate burning blood and tears;
and blistered hands of effort-fetched by arduous years.
Rewarded be the sweat of a field worker,
for bountfiful is the fruit of his labor.