THE HUMMING OF THE HARVEST by Thomas R. Williamson

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, Cal., Kansas City, and New York · Nov 29, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, Nos. 48, 49.

THE HUMMING OF THE HARVEST

By Thomas R. Williamson

I HAVE seen the golden glory, The majestic, billowy splendor, Of the grain fields in the summer, And the autumn of the year; Seen the breeze, with odors flow'ry, Lightly, and with touches tender, Give the large expanse a glamor And a tremor far and near; And the beauteous view has thrilled me, A devouter sense has filled me, And my heart uplifted worshiped Him whose love thus decked the year.

I have heard the iron rattle, Heard the labor song arousing, And the neighing, tramping horses Pushing in the harvest work, Almost like the noise of battle, Like the warrior's carousing, Singing martial strains and verses Near where deadly dangers lurk. And it is a war, tho peaceful; Sweat and strife, no chair of ease full, Gain a triumph when the harvest And the vintage call for work.

All our earth is but a grain field, All time's history but the growing Of a multitudinous harvest, And each autumn's ripening grain Has within its smaller space sealed Great achievements, larger showing, World affairs near by or farthest, O'er the land and o'er the main. Large and full our earth's great earing, Busy, mighty, sure, is nearing; Shall the gathering time be glorious, Ruddy grapes and golden grain?

Woodland, Cal.

Like produces like in nature; Wheat gives wheat in teeming measure; And the weeds that idly cumber Roadside, fence, and sunny hill, Give no promise to the future Of the garner's heaping treasure; No sage reckoning can number Worth or uses they may fill. Like brings like, no variations, Grain in fields and men in nations. Surely, then, a direful reaping Is the destiny earth must fill.

Broad has been the careless seeding O'er the earth's fair, fertile meadows, Folly, self-love, wilful living; And through all the years of time These have grown, rank, wild exceeding, In the sunlight, in the shadows; Now for fruit the world's receiving Terror, hatred, shame, and crime, And the war-clouds, gloomy, om'nous, Forecast soon a reaping troublous, Hosts, hate-driven, grimly crowding To the gleaming day of time.

Yet beyond earth's red horizon, Past the threat'ning, nearing doom-cloud, O'er the smoke, the fog, the wildness, Through the rifts of inky gloom, See, a Star, whose beams emblazon With God's brilliance every gloom-cloud; Star of Grandeur, Christ, thy mildness Sheds o'er earth the light of home. Heavenly fields, love-sown and verdant, Wait the coming, joyous, ardent, Of the singing throng of reapers Bound for heaven's grand harvest home.

THOMAS R. WILLIAMSON.