Richard Doddridge Blackmore

Exmoor Harvest-Song

                       1

The corn, oh the corn, ’tis the ripening of the corn!
        Go unto the door, my lad, and look beneath the moon,
        Thou canst see, beyond the woodrick, how it is yelloon:
’Tis the harvesting of wheat, and the barley must be shorn.

                   Chorus

The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn!
        Here’s to the corn, with the cups upon the board!
We’ve been reaping all the day, and we’ll reap again the morn
        And fetch it home to mow-yard, and then we’ll 
                                                            thank the Lord.

                       2

The wheat, oh the wheat, ’tis the ripening of the wheat!
        All the day it has been hanging down its heavy head,
        Bowing over on our bosoms with a beard of red:
’Tis the harvest, and the value makes the labour sweet.

                   Chorus

The wheat, oh the wheat, and the golden, golden wheat!
        Here’s to the wheat, with the loaves upon the board!
We’ve been reaping all the day, and we never will be beat,
        But fetch it all to mow-yard, and then we’ll 
                                                            thank the Lord.

                  3

The barley, oh the barley, and the barley is in prime!
        All the day it has been rustling, with its bristles brown,
        Waiting with its beard abowing, till it can be mown!
’Tis the harvest and the barley must abide its time.

                   Chorus

The barley, oh the barley, and the barley ruddy brown!
        Here’s to the barley, with the beer upon the board!
We’ll go amowing, soon as ever all the wheat is down;
        When all is in the mow-yard, we’ll stop, and 
                                                            thank the Lord.

                  4

The oats, oh the oats, ‘tis the ripening of the oats!
        All the day they have been dancing with their 
                                                            flakes of white,
        Waiting for the girding-hook, to be the nags’ delight:
’Tis the harvest, let them dangle in their skirted coats.

                   Chorus

The oats, oh the oats, and the silver, silver oats!
        Here’s to the oats with the blackstone on the board!
We’ll go among them, when the barley has been laid in rotes:
        When all is home to mow-yard, we’ll kneel and 
                                                            thank the Lord.

                  5

The corn, oh the corn, and the blessing of the corn!
        Come unto the door, my lads, and look beneath the moon,
        We can see, on hill and valley, how it is yelloon,
With a breadth of glory, as when our Lord was born.

                   Chorus

The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn!
        Thanks for the corn, with our bread upon the board!
So shall we acknowledge it, before we reap the morn,
        With our hands to heaven, and our knees unto the Lord.