  Autumn comes, her prospects glow With yellow fields of waving corn; The reaper with his sickle bright, Hastes to work at early morn. Whilst the morning breezes blow, Through the burning sultry noon, And till evening dews descend, Still he works and labours on. There is work for you and me? We can help the sheaves to bind: Idle hands we need not be. When Maria's task is done, We will to the nut-wood go; Each a bag and hooked stick, Down to pull the cluster'd bough. Oh! how tempting ripe they hang: Softly, softly pull them down, Lest the bright brown nuts should fall, And leave the empty husk alone. Bags and pockets all are full, And evening says we must not stay; With heavy loads we'll hasten home, And come again another day.
When Christmas holidays are come; Then round the fire we'll social be, And give our happy playmates some. |
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