Reap the green fields clear and well
Sow the seeds and never tell
Wear the scythe and hide the plow
Grow the pure and kill the foul
Slaughter stock and feed the young
Whip the mule and hold his tongue
Work him hard till fall of dawn
Revel in his silent brawn
Quiet the wind, calm the rain
Give noise an ill sense of shame
Step lightly though greenest fields
Choosing wisely what you yield
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