The Harvest Of The Sea
The
earth
grows
white
with
harvest;
all
day
long
The
sickles
gleam,
until
the
darkness
weaves
Her
web
of
silence
o'er
the
thankful
song
Of
reapers
bringing
home
the
golden
sheaves.
The
wave
tops
whiten
on
the
sea
fields
drear,
And
men
go
forth
at
haggard
dawn
to
reap;
But
ever
'mid
the
gleaners'
song
we
hear
The
half-hushed
sobbing
of
the
hearts
that
weep.
