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[313] All through the long, bright days of June
     Its leaves grew green and fair,
And waved in hot midsummer's noon
     Its soft and yellow hair.

And now, with autumn's moonlit eves,
     Its harvest-time has come,
We pluck away the frosted leaves,
     And bear the treasure home.

There, when the snows about us drift,
     And winter winds are cold,
Fair hands the broken grain shall sift,
     And knead its meal of gold.

Let vapid idlers loll in silk
     Around their costly board;
Give us the bowl of samp and milk,
     By homespun beauty poured!

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth
     Sends up its smoky curls,
Who will not thank the kindly earth,
     And bless our farmer girls!

Then shame on all the proud and vain,
     Whose folly laughs to scorn
The blessing of our hardy grain,
     Our wealth of golden corn!

Let earth withhold her goodly root,
     Let mildew blight the rye,

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