A POEM.
213
With belly full, the beasts belive
Are turned from the corn,
Which soberly they homeward drive,
With pipe and lilting horn.
Are turned from the corn,
Which soberly they homeward drive,
With pipe and lilting horn.
Through all the land great is the gild
Of rustic folk that cry,
Of bleating sheep, fra they be filled,
Of calves and routing ky.
Of rustic folk that cry,
Of bleating sheep, fra they be filled,
Of calves and routing ky.
All labourers draw home at even,
And can to other say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Which sent this summer day."
And can to other say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Which sent this summer day."