The Harvesters

The harvest comes, and all our field Are weighted down with splendor: The seasons have been more than fair, And nature more than tender. If other lauda have bied in war, In labi,r ours was peaceful; And not a harvest yield for years Has been more grandly blissful. And now the harvesters are out Bef oro the sun is shining, With ready hearts and bare arm strong; No rest till its declining. They sing their songn, and gather in The honest earth's profusión, And shout to Want and Misery, "Here'a to you both, confusión !" Long ere the jovial harvesters Come in for supper thirsting, Those atalwart arms and hands expert Have filled the barn to bursting; And piled around the teeming barn Huge staoks that blush w ith clover, And trimmed their sidea and thotohed tbeir tops Witb ntkATT and "riders" ot -f, If W'3 can cali a blessing down For any living creature, Be it upoc the Harvester, The Treasurer of Nature.