Behold! a giant am I! br Aloft here in my tower, br With my granite jaws I devour br The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, br And grind them into flour. br br I look down over the farms; br In the fields of grain I see br The harvest that is to be, br And I fling to the air my arms, br For I know it is all for me. br br I hear the sound of flails br Far off, from the threshing-floors br In barns, with their open doors, br And the wind, the wind in my sails, br Louder and louder roars. br br I stand here in my place, br With my foot on the rock below, br And whichever way it may blow, br I meet it face to face, br As a brave man meets his foe. br br And while we wrestle and strive, br My master, the miller, stands br And feeds me with his hands; br For he knows who makes him thrive, br Who makes him lord of lands. br br On Sundays I take my rest; br Church-going bells begin br Their low, melodious din; br I cross my arms on my breast, br And all is peace within.