As day by day the miller's wheel
Do dreve his clacks, an' heist his zacks,
An' vill his bins wi' show'rèn meal:
Mid's water never overflow
His dousty mill, nor zink too low,
Vrom now till wheat ageän do grow,
An' we've another Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Drough cisterns wet an' malt-kil's het,