WHEAT FIELDS by LEXIE DEAN ROBERTSON

THERE is an honest dignity in wheat
When fields of grain lie stretched beneath the sky
Till misty green has lifted up to meet
The distant blue where far horizons lie—
The dignity of space and strength and toil
Where men must work and sweating teams must tread
Long miles in weariness to till the soil
That hungry humankind may have its bread.
And when the amber sheaves stand in the sun
At autumntide, I think that every clod
Of earth must know that harvesting is done,
And for a fertile yield breathe thanks to God.

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