They all alike partake

Of bounty in the wake

Of Autumn's fruitful reign; the garner floor

Groans 'neath the cumbrous heap,

The sweeping scythe now mows, and curling sickles

reap.

XIII.

Behold the golden view

Of acres not a few,

For fields a thousand now both laugh and sing,

And wave their crowded store

In this their harvest hour;

With song of joy the valleys loudly ring;

The ripened ear submiss down bends

The golden head, to worship Him who plenty sends.

XIV.

The hinds in half-garb dressed,

With toil and heat oppressed,

Yet cheerily pursue their given work;

In ranks of order, strive

With ready hand to give

Their wonted strength to reap the golden stalk;

The swath and sheaf together lie,

The sunny ray to share, and thus in glory die.

XV.

The waggons jog along

To join the harvest throng,

Receive their burden, tufted sheaves of corn;

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With haste the labourers load,

As threatening clouds forebode

A coming storm; they sound the echoing horn;

Now all assemble to evade

The pouring rains come down, and quick the

waggons lade.

XVI.

Now frowns the riven sky,

The clouds descend from high,

Thunder magnificent now rolls afar;

The forky lightning's flash,

Followed by thunder's crash,

Alarms the trembling team with loaded car;

The startled horses plunge in mad affright,

And leave their rustic grooms dismayed in doleful plight.