The labourer toils from dawn to dusk,
tilling the rich dark earth,
no time now for sloth and lusk,
'tis time to prove his worth.
See the silvered furrow run,
arrow straight and true,
waiting the kiss of spring-time sun,
to cradle life anew.
Sowing is ever the joyful time,
man, bird and beast agree,
Hark, the church bells gladly chime,
spring is on the lea.
The sun ascends to summer height,
o'er the wold and o'er the plain,
field 'pon field of golden light,
praising Nature's name.
Awns of barley in the sun,
weaving whiskers of rippling gold,
the longest day has just begun,
good omen say the old.
Soon 'twill be our Harvest Home,
we'll gather in the bounty,
barley, fruit and honeycomb,
'cross every English county.
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