FLAX. 
The farmer hath his fields of wheat, 
Much corneth 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! 
