LESSON 52 THE WINDMILL

THE WINDMILL

Behold! a giant am I

Aloft here in my tower;

With my granite ［1］ jaws I devour ［2］

The maize, and the wheat, and the rye ［3］ ,

And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;

In the fields of grain I see

The harvest that is to be,

And I fling to the air my arms,

For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails ［4］

Far off from the threshing-floors ［5］

In barns, with their open doors,

And the wind, the wind in my sails

Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,

With my foot on the rock below,

And whichever way it may blow

I meet it face to face,

As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive

My master, the miller, stands

And feeds me with his hands;

For he knows who made him thrive ［6］ ,

Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays I take my rest;

Church-going bells begin

Their low, melodious ［7］ din.

I cross my arms on my breast,

And all is peace within.

—H. W. LONGFELLOW

* * *

［1 ］ granite: Hard, grayish rock.

［2 ］ devour: Eat, consume.

［3 ］ rye: A grain used in making certain kinds of bread.

［4 ］ flails: Wooden instruments for beating grain.

［5 ］ threshing-floors: The grain was beaten on a floor of wood or stone.

［6 ］ thrive: Prosper, grow well.

［7 ］ melodious: Tuneful.