NOW is the harvest gathered in at last To make bread for the people; full and sound The ripened ears fell on the fruitful ground Before the sickle; and the reapers passed; The maidens followed, stooping to make fast In golden clusters all the corn they found— Then, balancing aloft the sheaf new-bound, They on the heaped-up stook their burden cast; Until at eventide the loaded wain Bore homeward all the glory of the field, And men and maids rejoiced o'er work well done. Did they remember then the buried grain That in the darkness long lay hid to yield Food for the world beneath the summer sun? |