202 FLAX. 



The farmer hath his fields of wheat, 

 Much Cometh to his share; 



We have this little plot of flax, 

 That we have tilled with care. 



" Our squire he hath the holt and hill, 



Great halls and noble rent ; 

 We only have the flax-field, 



Yet therewith are content. 

 We watch it morn, we watch it night. 



And when the stars are out, 

 The good man and the little ones. 



They pace it round about ; 

 For it we wish the sun to shine, 



For it the rain to fall ; 

 Good lack ! for who is poor doth make 



Great count of what is small ! " 



Oh, the goodly flax-flower ! 



It groweth on the hill. 

 And, be the breeze awake or sleep, 



It never standeth still ! 

 It seemeth all astir with life. 



As if it loved to thrive; 

 As if it had a merry heart 



Within its stem alive ! 

 Then fair befall the flax-field. 



And may the kindly showers. 

 Give strength unto its shining stem. 



Give seed unto its flowers I 



