How peacefully the broad and golden moon Comes up to gaze upon the reaper's toil! That they who own the land for many a mile, May bless her beams, and they who take the boon Of scatter'd ears; Oh! beautiful! how soon The dusk is turn'd to silver without soil, Which makes the fair sheaves fairer than at noon, And guides the gleaner to his slender spoil; So, to our souls, the Lord of love and might Sends harvest-hours, when daylight disappears; When age and sorrow, like a coming night, Darken our field of work with doubts and fears, He times the presence of His heavenly light To rise up softly o'er our silver hairs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE by EMILY DICKINSON WHEN MALINDY SINGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR PAN'S PIPING by ALCAEUS OF MESSENE CELEBRATION ODE by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN PEBBLES by KENNETH SLADE ALLING |