  Far down in the meadow the wheat grows green, And the reapers are whetting their sickles so keen; And this is the song that I hear them sing, While cheery and loud their voices ring: "'Tis the finest wheat that ever did grow! And it is for Alice's supper, ho! ho!" Far down in the valley the old mill stands, And the miller is rubbing his dusty white hands; And these are the words of the miller's lay, As he watches the millstones a-grinding away: "'Tis the finest flour that money can buy, Downstairs in the kitchen the fire doth glow, And Maggie is kneading the soft white dough, And this is the song that she's singing to-day, While merry and busy she's working away: "'Tis the finest dough, by near or by far, And it is for Alice's supper, ha! ha!" And now to the nursery comes Nannie at last, And what in her hand is she bringing so fast? 'Tis a plate full of something all yellow and white, And she sings as she comes with her smile so bright: "'Tis the best bread-and-butter I ever did see! And it is for Alice's supper, he! he!" |
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