Make hospitality’s free rites his choice—
A season of glad cheer when loving hearts rejoice.
The Reaper.
The reaper now plies his sturdy arm,
’Mid the heat of the noon-day sun;
And early and late in the sweat of his brow,
He works till his task be done.
The sun scarce peeps o’er the distant trees,
Ere he labours along the fields;
And the silvery beams of the harvest moon,