THE spacious Fields we now no longer range;
And yet, hard Fate! still Work for Work we change.
Back to the Barns we hastily are sent,
Where lately so much Time we pensive spent:
Not pensive now, we bless the friendly Shade;
And to avoid the parching Sun are glad.
Yet little Time we in the Shade remain,
Before our Master calls us forth again;
And says, "For Harvest now yourselves prepare;
" The ripen'd Harvést now demands your Care.
"Get all things ready, and be quickly drest;
" Early next Morn I shall disturb your Rest. "
Strict to his Word! for scarce the Dawn appears,
Before his hasty Summons fills our Ears.
His hasty Summons we obey; and rise,
While yet the Stars are glimm'ring in the Skies.
With him our Guide we to the Wheat-field go,
He to appoint, and we the Work to do.