Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, <br />And unperceived, unfolds the spreading day; <br />Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, <br />In fair array. <br /> <br />At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves; <br />While through their cheerful band the rural talk, <br />The rural scandal, and the rural jest, <br />Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, <br />And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. <br />Behind, the master walks, builds up the shocks: <br />And, conscious, glancing oft on every side <br />His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. <br />The gleaners spread around, and here and there, <br />Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick. <br />Be not too narrow, husbandman! but fling <br />From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, <br />The liberal handful. Think, oh think! <br />How good the God of harvest is to you, <br />Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields; <br />While these unhappy partners of your kind <br />Wide hover round you, like the fowls of heaven, <br />And ask their humble dole. The various turns <br />Of fortune ponder; that your sons may want <br />What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.<br /><br />James Thomson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-reapers-in-autumn/
