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THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, | |
And, with his sickle keen, | |
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, | |
And the flowers that grow between. | |
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Shall I have naught that is fair? saith he; | 5 |
Have naught but the bearded grain? | |
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, | |
I will give them all back again. | |
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He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, | |
He kissed their drooping leaves; | 10 |
It was for the Lord of Paradise | |
He bound them in his sheaves. | |
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My Lord has need of these flowerets gay, | |
The Reaper said, and smiled; | |
Dear tokens of the earth are they, | 15 |
Where he was once a child. | |
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They shall all bloom in fields of light, | |
Transplanted by my care, | |
And saints, upon their garments white, | |
These sacred blossoms wear. | 20 |
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And the mother gave, in tears and pain, | |
The flowers she most did love; | |
She knew she should find them all again | |
In the fields of light above. | |
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O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, | 25 |
The Reaper came that day; | |
T was an angel visited the green earth, | |
And took the flowers away. | |
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