88 
HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS. 
We'll gather the white convolvulus 
That opes in the morning early ; 
With a cluster of nuts, an ear of wheat, 
And an ear of the bearded barley. 
Bright over the golden fields of corn 
Doth shine the autumn sky ; 
So let’s be merry while we may, 
For time goes hurrying by. 
They took down the sickle from the wall 
When morning dews shone pearly ; 
And the mower whets the ringing scythe 
To cut the bearded barley. 
Come then into the harvest-fields ; 
The robin sings his song ; 
The corn stands yellow on the hills, 
And autumn stays not long. 
They ’ll carry the sheaves of corn away ; 
They carried to-day so early, 
Along the lanes, with a rustling sound, 
Their loads of the bearded barley ! 
