Classic Poem

Heat and hay-making! Through the scented grass
The sharp scythe rustles, bringing music dear,
With pastoral echoes, to the listening ear;
While, in the sunshine, boy and buxom lass
Raise clover-ridges. As the gate we pass
Leading into the meadow, gales of glee
Come floating breeze-borne over lake and lea.
In the tree's shadow stand the panting kine,
Rambles the angler by the limpid stream:
The earth is full of charity Divine;
Waves the green corn where glancing swallows gleam.
The lanes are loveliness where fair things dream.
A mystery fills creation. Earth, and sea,
And fen, and forest, whisper, Lord, of Thee.