| Said the shepherd to his wife:
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| «The crop of hay is cut and dried
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| I’ll bale it up and bring it in
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| Before the coming storm begins»
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| «Go», she said, «And beat the storm
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| And then there is another chore
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| Today the baby will be born
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| You’ll take me to the hospital»
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| Said the shepherd, «If it’s true
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| 'Twere better if I stayed with you
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| I’d rather let the harvest go
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| And hasten to the hospital»
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| «Nay», she told him, «I'll be fine
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| We both have laboring to do
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| You do yours and I’ll do mine
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| And the babe will wait till the work is through»
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| The shepherd rode the yellow rows
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| The clouds above and the fields below
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| Until the bales had all been tied
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| Then homeward turned to find his wife
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| The sweat was wet upon her brow
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| Her breath it cameth laboredly
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| And then the rain was coming down
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| Upon the fields of yellow hay
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| Said the shepherd, «It's no use
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| The rain will surely win the race
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| 'Twere better if we let it fall
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| And hurry to the hospital»
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| «Go», she said, «And work with haste
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| And bring the bales into the barn
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| Else the crop will go to waste
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| And the babe will wait till the work is done»
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| The shepherd drove into the storm
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| And to and from the yellow barn
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| Till half the bales were safely in
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| Then went to find his wife again
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| How many times her name he called
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| And no replying would she make
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| Her breath it cameth not at all
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| She would not rise from where she lay
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| The storm was o’er within the hour
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| The shepherd saw the sun come out
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| The shepherd’s wife saw ne’er again
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| He buried her and the babe within
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| He turned the seed into the ground
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| He brought the flock to feed thereon
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| He held the cleaver and the plow
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| And the shepherd’s work was never done |