There is a reaper, whose name is Death And, with his sickle keen He reaps the bearded grain at a breath And the flowers that grow between There is a reaper, whose name is Death And, with his sickle keen He reaps the bearded grain at a breath And the flowers that grow between Shall I have naught that is fair?, saith he Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me I will give them all back again. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes He kissed their drooping leaves It was for the lord of paradise He bound them in his sheaves My Lord has need of these flowerets gay The Reaper said and smiled; 'Dear tokens of the earth are they Where he was once a child They shall all bloom in fields of light Transplanted by my care And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love She knew she would find them all again In the fields of light above Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath The Reaper came that day 'Twas an angel visited the green earth And took the flowers away 'Twas an angel visited the green earth And took the flowers away