Miller of Gloucestershire/The Miller of Gloucestershire

The Miller of Glocestershire.

OF all the callings and ths trades
Which in our land abound,
The miller’s is as useful sure,
As can on earth be found.

The farmer he manures the land;
Or else what corh could grow?
The plougnman cuts the furrow deep
Ere he begins to sow.

And though no wealth he has, excepted
The labour of hi- hands;
Yet honest industry’s as good,
As houses or as lands.

The thrasher he is useful too
To all who like to eat;
Unless he winnow’d well the corn,
The chaif would spoil the wheat.

But vain would be the farmer’s care,
And vain the thrashers toil;
And vain would be the ploughman’s pain
Who harrows up the soil:

In vain, without the miller’s aid,
The sowing and the dressing:
Then lure an honest miller he
Must be a public blessing.

And such a miller now I make
The subject of my long;
Which though it shall be very true,
Shall not be very long.

This miller lives in Glou’stershire;
I shall not tell his name;
For those who seek the praise of God,
Desire no other fame.

In Lift hard winter—who forgets
The frost of ninety-five?
Then all was dismal, scarce, and dear;
And no poor man could thrive

Then husbandry long time stood still
And work was at a stand:
To make the matter worse, the mills
Were froze throughout the land.

Fast by a living stream, it was
Our miller’s lot to dwell,
Which flow’d amain when others froze,
Nor ever stopp’d the mill.

The clam’rous people came from far,
This favour'd mill to find;
Both rich and -poor our miller sought;
For none but he could grind.

His neighbours cried : 'Now, miller, seize
The time to heap up store;
Since thou of young and helpless babes
Had got full half a score.

For folks when tempted to grow rich,
By means not over-nice,
Oft make their num’rous babes a plea,
To sanctify the vice.

Our miller scorn’d such counsel base;
And when he ground the grain,
With steadfast hand refus’d to touch
Beyond his lawful gain.

"When God afflicts the land,” said he,
“Shall I afflict it more?
And watch for times of public woe,
To wrong both rich and poor?

Thankful to that Almighty power
Who makes my river flow,
I’ll use the means he gives, to sooth
A hungry neighbour’s woe.

My river flows when others freeze;
But ’tis at his command
For rich and poor I’ll grind alike;
No brib shall slain my hand.”

So all the country who had corn,
Here found their wants redress’d.
May ev'ry village in the land,
Be with such millers blest.