The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Aubade THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, And climbing shakes his dewy wings. He takes this window for the East, And to implore your light he sings- Awake, awake! the morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes, But still the lover wonders what they are Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn! Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn!
A ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees.
Ye rigid Ploughman! bear in mind Your labor is for future hours. Advance! spare not! nor look behind! Plough deep and straight with all your powers!
The poorest ploughman is in Christ equal with the greatest prince that is. Let them therefore have sufficient to maintain them.