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Show BttaiarHt? J With all the grass, so lush in June, In haymows stored or stacked a-field, And July's harvesting in tune For such a glowing, bounteous yield; With all the hot, midsummer days Garnered alike in weeks gone by We wait the while the oft wind plays Through orchard boughs whose yield is nigh. And while we wait our play-day comes The holiday of all the year ' When Labor's noise no longer hums, And Labor's voice is heard in cheer. Then hey the picnic, is the call! And sports come on with leap and bound, The while we hear a voice "Play ball!" When merry Labor Day comes round. We pack our baskets or the wife And children do, with hearts alight , All heaping full and seek the life That Nature whispers us is right. We all are boys and girls again, Although our brows with age are crowned! We are not women now, nor men i When merry Labor Day comes round. What merry tales the women tell The portly ones we scarce would know As willowy Jane and slender Nell, In those dear days so long ago! What roystering yarns the men spin out While pitching quoits on springy ground, 1 The other fellows' girls about , When merry Labor Day comes round. i And thus with sport the day goes by, The toil of all the year forgot; For cheaper 'tis to laugh than cry For man as well as little tot. God bless the holiday that comes Into our lives with such a bound! When Labor's noise no longer hums, And merry Labor Day comes round. |