The Village of Golden Fields

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The village is the heart where love resides,

A home of warmth where happiness abides;

A haven of welfare, peaceful and bright,

A gentle shelter of joy and light.


Oh, little dove that flies across the field,

Seeking golden grains the green earth yields,

Riding softly on the fragrant breeze,

Sing the village song among the trees.


Sing of the fields that stretch so wide,

Where nature blooms in beauty and pride;

Sing of the farmer who toils each day,

While beads of sweat fall on his way.


His hands embrace the faithful earth,

And from the soil new life takes birth;

He turns the humble soil to gold,

With strength and courage, brave and bold.


Even where the desert seems dry and bare,

His tireless hands bring beauty there;

Where once was dust beneath the sun,

He makes a garden for everyone.


Here the fields wear crowns of grain,

Golden harvest after golden rain;

The waving ears bring wealth to the land,

A blessing born from the farmer’s hand.


The harvest becomes the nation's gain,

A source of joy through sun and rain;

For every grain that fills our store

Is born from the sweat the farmer pours.


Oh, farmer, tireless through the year,

You are the messenger of fortune dear;

You feed the land, you make it thrive,

You help the dreams of nations survive.


What place could ever be more fair,

With fields of green and fragrant air?

Even heaven's realm, so bright and grand,

Could not surpass this blessed land.


From the generous heart of fertile earth,

Countless treasures receive their birth;

Not only gold from the soil is grown-

But life, prosperity, and hope are sown.


Oh village, beautiful, peaceful and free,

A living dream of harmony;

Where love is the heart, and work is the soul,

Where fertile fields make the nation whole.


So let the gentle dove arise,

And carry our song beneath the skies:

Blessed is the village, its fields of gold,

And blessed the farmer whose hands they hold.

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