The 'Dirl' of the Reaping Machine by John Cowper.

[trinkie]

The ‘Dirl’ of the Reaping Machine
By John Cowper.

The youth and beauty of farmlands astir
With the break of the harvest morn,
And the fields so bright resound with a birr –
They are mowing the yellow corn.
Industry rearing the staff of life
Squares cut down ‘neath the sunshine’s gleam,
Triumph of skill in the harvest strife –
Ha! List to the Reaping Machine!

For the farmer yokes with a spring so light
His ‘greys’ to the motive power,
And he swaithes the rigs in his modern might
With wealth of the season’s dower;
Sheaflet dots in formation grand,
Garnered in order, tight and clean,
Effort supreme of mind and hand –
Oh! List to the Reaping Machine!

My granny reaped with a hook, you must know
She was first in a ‘winn’ of three;
There was nothing could equal her dash and ‘go’
At least so they’ve told it to me.
Mem’ry’s picture shaded in gloom,
Skyed from view in the modern scene,
Wrapt in oblivion’s rayless doom –
Ha! List to the Reaping Machine !

The sweep of the Autumn wind on the lees
'Neath the moonlight’s sillvering sheen;
Now the golden grain in the waving breeze
Becomes ready to mow and glean.
Joys that the morrow’s labour will bring,
Sounds that hum through the farmer’s dream,
Hillside echoes on melody’s wing –
The ‘dirl’ of the Reaping Machine!