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