Ireland for the Irish Rhymes and Reasons Against Landlordism with a Preface on Fenianism and Republicanism. By W. J. Linton, Formerly of the Irish "Nation" |
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HARVEST HOME |
 | Ireland for the Irish |  |
HARVEST HOME
The autumn winds are flinging
The sunshine on the grain;
And the merry reapers, bringing
Load after load, are singing
Of Freedom's harvest gain.
Pile up the sheaves, boys! ho, boys!
The harvest is our own:
There's none fears now to sow, boys!
When each is free to grow, boys!
A harvest for his own.
Pile up the sheaves, boys! ho, boys!
A harvest for our own.
The sunshine on the grain;
And the merry reapers, bringing
Load after load, are singing
Of Freedom's harvest gain.
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The harvest is our own:
There's none fears now to sow, boys!
When each is free to grow, boys!
A harvest for his own.
Pile up the sheaves, boys! ho, boys!
A harvest for our own.
The harvest winds are singing—
“The reapers' feast is come”
And merrier songs are ringing
From glorious voices, bringing
The last rich burthen home.
Toss up the last sheaf! ho, boys!
The harvest work is done.
We dared our hope to sow, boys!
Our toil hath help'd it grow, boys!
The harvest is our own.
And again the grain we'll grow, boys!
And future harvests own.
“The reapers' feast is come”
And merrier songs are ringing
From glorious voices, bringing
The last rich burthen home.
Toss up the last sheaf! ho, boys!
The harvest work is done.
We dared our hope to sow, boys!
Our toil hath help'd it grow, boys!
The harvest is our own.
And again the grain we'll grow, boys!
And future harvests own.
| Ireland for the Irish | |