Harvest Hymn



ONCE more the liberal year laughs out 

O'er richer stores than gems or gold;

Once more with harvest song and shout 

Is nature's bloodless triumph told.

Our common mother rests and sings 

Like Ruth among the garnered sheaves;

Her lap is full of goodly things,

Her brow is bright with autumn leaves.

O favors old, yet ever new!

O blessings with the sunshine sent! 

The bounty overruns our due,

The fullness shames our discontent.

We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on;

We murmur, but the corn ears fill; 

We choose the shadow, but the sun

That casts it, shines behind us still.





 Whittier.