| There is a Reaper, whose name is Death
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| And, with his sickle keen
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| He reaps the breaded grain at a breath
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| And the flowers that grow between
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| There is a Reaper, whose name is Death
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| And with his sickle keen
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| He reaps the breaded grain at a breath
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| And the flowers that grow between
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| «Shall I have naught that is fair?», saith he;
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| «Have naught but the breaded grain?
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| Thought the breath of these flowers is sweet to me
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| I will give them all back again.»
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| He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes
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| He kissed their drooping leaves;
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| It was for the Lord of Paradise
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| He bound them in his sheaves
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| «My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,»
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| The Reaper said, and smiled;
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| «Dear tokens of the earth are they
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| Where he was once a child.»
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| «They shall all bloom in fields of light
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| Transplanted by my care
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| And saints, upon their garments white
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| These sacred blossoms wear.»
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| And the mother gave in tears and pain
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| The flowers she most did love;
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| She knew she would find them all again
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| In the fields of light above
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| Oh not in cruelty, not in wrath
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| The Reaper came that day;
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| 'T was an angel visited the green earth
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| And took the flowers away
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| 'T was an angel visited the green earth
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| And took the flowers away |