The reapers are mowing in Foremass meadows;
The sunbeams are chasing away the shadows
O’er fence and field;
The sweet winds are harping on branch and bramble,
That makes around us where we ramble
A pleasant shield.
We know by the gold with the green grain blending
That autumn is near us, and summer ending.
And in the hush –
While hearing the reapers in meadows mowing,
And turf carts o’er the white roads going –
We fondly wish.
That God may guide us through Foremass meadows,
By its rivers and roads, ‘mid the deep’ning shadows
With friends that we trust, and our loved ones near us,
And these dear scenes to soothe and cheer us
Down Life’s hillside.
‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.