In the hay, in the hay,
Toss we and tumble;
No one to say us nay,
All through this Summer's day!
No one to grumble.
In the hat, in the hay,
Arthur we'll smother;
Bring armfuls, heap them high,
Pile them up--now good-bye,
Poor little brother!
In the hay, in the hay,
Snugly reclining,
Shaded from the noontide heat,
Smelling the clover sweet,
See us all dining;
While the haymakers sit
Under the willows,
Each with his bread and cheese
Spread out upon his knees,
Hay for their pillows.
Hark! how the laugh and chat,
Happy, light hearted!
Now to their work they go,
Raking up one long row,
Fit to be carted.
Now comes the wagon near,
Quickly they're loading;
Rake away! rake away!
While it's fine make the hay--
Rain is foreboding.
Now that the sunset ray
Says the day's over,
Homeward we make our way,
In the cart strewn with hay,
Smelling of clover.