355. Harvest

THOUGH the long seasons seem to separate

Sower and reaper or deeds dreamed and done,

Yet when a man reaches the Ivory Gate

Labour and life and seed and corn are one.

Because thou art the doer and the deed,

Because thou art the thinker and the thought,

Because thou art the helper and the need,

And the cold doubt that brings all things to nought.

Therefore in every gracious form and shape

The world’s dear open secret shalt thou find,

From the One Beauty there is no escape

Nor from the sunshine of the Eternal mind.

The patient labourer, with guesses dim,

Follows this wisdom to its secret goal.

He knows all deeds and dreams exist in him,

And all men’s God in every human soul.