The Harvest

Trusting in the patient earth
For the coming need,
Went the hopeful sower forth,
Bearing precious seed.

Precious seed and full of hope,
Scattered far and wide,
O’er the plain—along the slope—
And by the river side.

Softened by the vernal rain,
Quickened by the sun,
Every little planted grain
Peep’d forth, one by one.

Nourished by the rain and dew,
And the genial light,
Blade by blade it upward grew,
Growing day and night.

Waving in the summer gales,
Bowing to the blast,
O’er the teeming intervales,
Ripening to the last.

Duly to the harvest white,
Goldenly it glows,
As with grateful heart, and light,
Forth the reaper goes.

Brightly as the sickle swings,
Flashing in the sun,
Merrily the reaper sings,
While the moments run.

Onward as the strong man goes,
Fall the golden heads,
Till the grain, in beauteous rows,
All the field o’erspreads.

Gather, gather now with care,
Binding up your sheaves,
Save what holy thrift and prayer
For the gleaner leaves.

Now, upon the groaning wain,
Pile your treasures high,
Thankful for the gentle rain,
And the genial sky.

Grateful for the bounteous earth,
Trusting all to come,
Now with songs of cheerful mirth,
Bring the harvest home.

Dance and sing in joyous ring,
Ere the day grows dim;
Rejoice, rejoice, with heart and voice,
Shout, shout the Harvest Hymn.