The Sower's Song

Now hands to seed sheet, boys,
We step and we cast. Old Time’s on wing.
And, would you partake of Harvest joys,
The corn must be sown in spring.
Fall gentle and still, good corn,
Lie warm in your earthy bed;
And stand so yellow all in the morn,
For beast and man must be fed.
Old Earth is a pleasure to see
With sunshiny cloak of red and green;
The furrow lies fresh, and this year shall be
As years that are past have been.
Old Mother, receive this corn,
The son of six thousand golden sires;
All these on thy kindly breast were born,
One more your poor child requires.
Now, steady and sure again,
And measure of stroke and step we keep;
Thus up and down we cast our grain,
Sow well, and you shall gladly reap.