| |
| THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, | |
| And, with his sickle keen, | |
| He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, | |
| And the flowers that grow between. | |
| |
| “Shall I have naught that is fair?” saith he; | 5 |
| “Have naught but the bearded grain? | |
| Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, | |
| I will give them all back again.” | |
| |
| He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, | |
| He kissed their drooping leaves; | 10 |
| It was for the Lord of Paradise | |
| He bound them in his sheaves. | |
| |
| “My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,” | |
| The Reaper said, and smiled; | |
| “Dear tokens of the earth are they, | 15 |
| Where he was once a child. | |
| |
| “They shall all bloom in fields of light, | |
| Transplanted by my care, | |
| And saints, upon their garments white, | |
| These sacred blossoms wear.” | 20 |
| |
| And the mother gave, in tears and pain, | |
| The flowers she most did love; | |
| She knew she should find them all again | |
| In the fields of light above. | |
| |
| O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, | 25 |
| The Reaper came that day; | |
| ’T was an angel visited the green earth, | |
| And took the flowers away. | |
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