The teams are waiting in the field,
The ploughmen all a-row;
As brisk and gay as birds in May,
They make a goodly show.
The farmer stands, and sees all hands
Turn'd out and ready now;
Yet ere they start, with all our heart
We'll say, God speed the plough!
We plough the field; but He must yield
His sunshine and His rains:
In hope we plough, in hope we sow,
That He will bless our pains.
'Tis even weight, and furrow straight,
That bears away the bell;
So off! And now God speed the plough,
And send the ploughman well!