C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Ploughman’s Song
By Alekseï Koltsov (1809–1842)
P
Turning o’er the black clods,
Mother-earth will burnish
White the iron ploughshare.
Lo! on the bright horizon;
From the waking woodland
Comes the sun in glory.
Pull, my gray one, pull now!
Beast and man must toil here,
Comrade-like, together.
I with glad heart follow,
Fling the golden seed-corn
O’er the ground in showers.
Thrash will in the wide barn!
Merry ’tis to winnow!
Pull, my gray one, pull now!
Till the land at daybreak,
Consecrate a cradle
Fitting for the seed-corn.
Mother-earth sustain will,
Green the blades will spring up …
Pull, my gray one, pull now!…
Stalks, full-eared, will bend low,
Yellowing and rip’ning,
Nod in summer breezes.
Scythes will ring and glisten.
Large the joy, the rest sweet,
In the fragrant corn-ricks.
And a cool drink, beastie,
From the well I’ll bring thee.
Pull, my gray one, pull now!
Plough the land and sow it.
Trustful, God, we pray Thee
Make the harvest prosper.