 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
HARVEST-HOME.
When mellow autumn yields
All her golden treasures,
Then those who dressed the fields,
Partake of harvest pleasures.
This, lads, is harvest-home:
Those who labor daily,
Well know 'tis sweet to come,
And pass the evening gayly.
Then let each heart be light,
Here's no room for sorrow,
Joy holds her court to-night,
Care may call to-morrow.
All her golden treasures,
Then those who dressed the fields,
Partake of harvest pleasures.
37
Those who labor daily,
Well know 'tis sweet to come,
And pass the evening gayly.
Then let each heart be light,
Here's no room for sorrow,
Joy holds her court to-night,
Care may call to-morrow.
Now labor wipes his brow,
Rest and plenty wait him,
Barn, cellar, rick, and mow,
Are filled to recreate him.
Scythe, sickle, rake, and hoe,
All are now suspended,
Like trophies in a row,
For future use intended.
Then let each heart be light,
Here's no room for sorrow,
Joy holds her court to-night,
Care may call to-morrow.
Rest and plenty wait him,
Barn, cellar, rick, and mow,
Are filled to recreate him.
Scythe, sickle, rake, and hoe,
All are now suspended,
Like trophies in a row,
For future use intended.
Then let each heart be light,
Here's no room for sorrow,
Joy holds her court to-night,
Care may call to-morrow.
Now gay Pomona's store
Past exertions blesses;
Rich streams of nectar pour,
Sparkling from her presses.
Full goblets, steaming board,
Crown the farmer's labors,
These real bliss afford,
When shared by jovial neighbors.
Then let each heart beat light,
Here 's no room for sorrow,
Joy holds her court to-night,
Care may call to-morrow.
Past exertions blesses;
Rich streams of nectar pour,
Sparkling from her presses.
Full goblets, steaming board,
Crown the farmer's labors,
38
When shared by jovial neighbors.
Then let each heart beat light,
Here 's no room for sorrow,
Joy holds her court to-night,
Care may call to-morrow.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |