The Reaper pauses in the ample field,
Where a rich harvest smiles to bless his toil,
And rests beside the oak, beneath whose shade,
In ages past, the wandering Red Man slept;
There, while the sun poured down his fervent ray,
The happy laborer seeks to quench his thirst,
With crystal water from the lime-stone spring,
Or milk, from prudent housewife’s ample store—
Pure as it came from Nature’s healthy fount;
And while he sits the idle hours away,