Fall Ploughing

The men who plough in Springtime see Small growing things 'ere long, But men who plough in Autumntime Must have great faith and strong.

The fields of long brown rows of sod Are flanked by second grass; And the wild geese that southward fly Honk dully as they pass.

Men urge their tired beasts along, With confidence elate; Under a grey and stormy sky Light fades, they cannot wait.

For they must look away beyond The high white hills forlorn, And through Frost's icy fingers see Another Spring reborn.