The Maiden to Her Reaping-hook

The soldier waves the shining sword, the shepherd boy his crook,
The boatman plies the splashing oar, but well I love the hook.
When swift I haste at sunny morn, unto the spreading plain,
And view before me, like a sea, the fields of golden grain,
And listen to the cheerful sound of harvest's echoing horn,
Or join the merry reaper band, that gather in the corn;
How sweet the friendly welcoming, how gladsome every look,
Ere we begin, with busy hands, to wield the Reaping Hook.

My Reaping Hook! my Reaping Hook! I love thee better far,
Than glancing spear and temper'd sword, bright instruments of war;
As thee I grasp with willing hand, and feel a reaper's glee,
When, waving in the rustling breeze, the ripen'd field I see;
Or listen to the harmless jest, the bandsman's cheerful song,
The hearty laugh, the rustic mirth, while mingling 'mid the throng;
With joy I see the well-fill'd sheaf, and mark each rising stook,
As thee I ply with agile arm, my trusty Reaping Hook!

They tell of glorious battle-fields, strew'd thick with heaps of slain!
Alas! the triumphs of the sword bring only grief and pain;
But thou, my shining Reaping Hook, the symbol art of peace,
And fill'st a thousand families with smiles and happiness;
While conquering warrior's burning brand, amid his gory path,
The emblem is of pain and woe, of man's destructive wrath.
Soon therefore may the spear give place unto the shepherd's crook,
And the conqueror's flaming sword be turn'd into a Reaping Hook!