1 When we come to the end of the furrow, <br />2 When our last day's work is done, <br />3 We will drink of the long red shaft of light <br />4 That slants from the westering sun. <br /> <br />5 We will turn from the field of our labour, <br />6 From the warm earth glad and brown, <br />7 And wend our feet up that village street, <br />8 And with our folk lie down. <br /> <br />9 Yea, after the long toil, surcease, <br />10 Rest to the hearts that roam, <br />11 When we join in the mystic silence of eve <br />12 The glad procession home.<br /><br />William Wilfred Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-of-the-furrow/
