I will go and gaze with gladdened eye at what God has sent to men for their toil. Above my waist the large-grained rye rises, then dreamily bends well nigh to the ground. On every side the corn, guest sent by God, greets with a smile the joyful day. Over it the breeze floats lustrously, streaming this way and that a wave of gold. Now in whole families the peasants commence their harvest, cutting close to the roots the stalks of the lofty rye. Into close-packed mows are the sheaves collected; from the lines of carts sounds music all the night long. On every side do the stacks erect their heads in the barnyards,--taking up much room, like nobles of yore in their robes of state.