Right up where the plains meet the foothills
Of the Himalaya range
Where the dusty riverbeds waited
For the monsoon rain
In the field, behind a cow
The farmer rides a plow
Barefoot on a wooden blade
Sweet as the sandlewood are
These memories of a childhood
I would never trade
They offered us their food and their shelter
Honored if we'd stay
Though we could see the scant provisions
It was the village way
Oh, the depth of dignity, amid the scarcity
And the struggle just to live
I will not deny...I am still humbled by
Their capacity to give
Often it's been my fate, to underestimate
The ox that pulls the cart
The open hand...of the humble heart
You could see the queen's mailboxes
Shipped from Liverpool
Standing with their red crowns shining
Left from British rule
How could this simple nation
Half crippled with starvation
Overthrow this superpower?
And would that question be...replayed
A top the embassy
In Saigon's final hour?
Often it's been our fate, to underestimate
The ox that pulls the cart
The iron will...of the humble heart
This morning he's out there on his tractor
The sky is blue and clear
On the other corner of his forty
There are others planting here
He was standing in the hardware store
Overheard them asking for
A piece of land to clear
Their tongue was of a different land
That only he would understand
So Peterson came near
He recognized these highland people
The dialect, the tone
From when he was a first lieutenant
In the jungles of their home
I came driving by this morn
Saw their gardens, saw his corn
And their straw hats in the sun
My childhood flashed through my head
Like rain in a dusty riverbed
From this simple thing he's done
Often it's been my fate, to underestimate
The ox that pulls the cart
The open hand...of the humble heart