p. 12 | The Home Circle by S. S. Times

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 1, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 46.

The Home Circle.

By S. S. Times

HARVEST.

THE reapers sang in the shaded lane, And the laden wagons came creaking slow, While the kind farm-mother her table spread; For the field was bare and the sun was low— The sun was low and the day was gone— The toil was over, and harvest done.

I looked and sighed, as the yellow store Was borne away to the yawning mow, And I thought of the brimming garner floor, And the harvester's tanned and sweating brow, Till I sighed again, in the fading light, While the tired world slept in the lap of night.

I sighed for the tender plant that died When the cold north wind untimely blew; I sighed for the grain that never swelled, For the blighted sheaf that never grew; I sighed for the harvest-days that seem Like the waking mockery of a dream.

I knelt in the dim, sweet, summer night And whispered a prayer of trembling faith, That He (who nurseth the sleeping grain Till life comes smiling from darkest death) Would not scorn the scant sheaves I had won When life was over and harvest done. —S. S. Times.