Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Ellen Mackay HutchinsonCortissoz1130 Harvest
S
Is the wind’s song,
Astir in the rippled wheat
All day long.
It hath the brook’s wild gayety,
The sorrowful cry of the sea.
Oh hush and hear!
Sweet, sweet and clear,
Above the locust’s whirr
And hum of bee
Rises that soft, pathetic harmony.
The innocent white daisies blow,
The dandelion plume doth pass
Vaguely to and fro,—
The unquiet spirit of a flower
That hath too brief an hour.
Or golden bright,
Drift down the warm, blue sky;
And now on the horizon line,
Where dusky woodlands lie,
A sunny mist doth shine,
Like to a veil before a holy shrine,
Concealing, half-revealing
Things Divine.
Is the wind’s song,
Astir in the rippled wheat
All day long.
That exquisite music calls
The reaper everywhere—
Life and death must share,
The golden harvest falls.
Honored Philosophy,
Science and Art,
The bloom of the heart;—
Master, Consoler, Friend,
Make Thou the harvest of our days
To fall within Thy ways.