OW the corn has grown ripe in the Summer's hot days,
And the reaping began with the sun's early rays,
Mike and Jack since the morn,
Have been cutting the corn,
Which is bound up by Peggy and Sue;
And gay, flaunting poppies and flow'rets of blue
Wag their heads o'er the sheaves and seem nodding at you.
But when noon's sultry hour proves oppressively hot,
The reapers look out for a cool, shady spot,
And a respite they snatch,
Their short meal to dispatch,
And well earned indeed is their rest!
While the children give chase to the hare that's hard prest,
Or the bird by the harvest disturbed from her nest.
For what care the children for heat or for work,
At that age when all labor so gaily we shirk?
Play, then, little ones, play,
And enjoy while ye may,
But to all of God's creatures be kind—
Then when months have rolled by and left Summer behind,
Its joys unalloyed shall still dwell in your mind.