Behold! a giant am I!
       &nbsp Aloft here in my tower,
       &nbsp With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
       &nbsp And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
       &nbsp In the fields of grain I see
       &nbsp The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
       &nbsp For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails
       &nbsp Far off, from the threshing-floors
       &nbsp In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
       &nbsp Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,
       &nbsp With my foot on the rock below,
       &nbsp And whichever way it may blow
I meet it face to face,
       &nbsp As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive
       &nbsp My master, the miller, stands
       &nbsp And feeds me with his hands;
For he knows who makes him thrive,
       &nbsp Who makes him lord of lands.
On Sundays I take my rest;
       &nbsp Church-going bells begin
       &nbsp Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
       &nbsp And all is peace within.