I’ve watched the trains as they disappeared
Behind the clouds of smoke,
Carrying the crowds of working men
To the land of hope,
Working hard on southern soil,
Someone softly spoke;
“Toil and toil, and toil and toil,
And yet I’m always broke.”
On the farms I’ve labored hard,
And never missed a day;
With wife and children by my side
We journeyed on our way.
But now the year is passed and gone,
And every penny spent,
And all my little food supplies
Were taken ’way for rent.
Yes, we are going to go the north!
I don’t care to what state,
Just as long as I cross the Dixon Line,
From this southern land of hate,
Lynched and burned and shot and hung,
And not a word is said.
No law whatever to go protect—
It’s just a “negro” dead.
Go on, dear brother; you’ll ne’er regret;
Just trust in God; pray for the best,
And in the end you’re sure to find
“Happiness will be thine.”
Based on the poem above...
What is most likely this man's occupation?