In a valley where the sunbeams
Like our father's blessings fall
Where repose the softest shadows
And the dove and cuckoo call,
Where the hay o'er meadows scattered,
Casts its fragrance to the air,
Dwells in peace a band of reapers,
Winnowing joy from sheaves of care.
Nature now is clad in verdure,
Filled her lap with fragrant flowers,
And the sweet-voiced birds of summer
Warble in their vine-clad bowers.
Insects flitting, grasses waving,
In and out the brooklet flows
Bearing on its wayward journey
Sweetest tidings of repose.
Onward come the thrifty gleaners
At the glimmer of the dawn,
In their beating hearts contentment-
On their lips the hymn of morn.
Awake! awake! the rosy light
In dawning splendor beams:
The sun arises from his sleep,
And earth in beauty gleams.
Bear they in their hands the sickle,
To the grain a dreaded foe;
By its strength and man's united.
Sheaf on sheaf will soon lie low.
All the glory of the harvest
Shines upon the valley plain,
And the laughing sunbeams hover
Over fields of golden grain.
Voice of gleaners, clash of sickles,
Songs that float from field and holm,
Are the tunes of labor's anthem
Floating through the azure dome.
One by one the sheaves are falling,
One by one are cut and bound,
Like brave soldiers in the conflict
Fall to earth with glory crowned.
In far distant homes fond mothers
Weep in silence o'er their fears;
O'er the sheaves the clouds keep vigil,
Mother Earth sheds dewy tears.
In the western sky low sinking
Sunbeams kiss the radiant stream;
Day, that light would lull to slumber,
Dieth with the fading gleam.
To rest! to rest! the reapers sing,
The pale-faced moon ascends the height;
O'er earth the misty twilight falls,
A shadow bridge 'twixt day and night.
Distant hills repeat the anthem
Echoes fainter, fainter grow,
As the far bell's distant tinklings
Still resound in music low.
So life's morning dawns in splendor
On our life-work's glorious field;
Hope and love and truth and beauty
Here a bounteous harvest yield.
Youth, so light of heart and footsteps,
Cometh singing glad and free,
Age, fast fleeting, crowned with silver,
Totters slowly o'er the lea.
Gleaners golden sheaves are binding,
Soon the harvest will be o'er;
Hearts o'er shattered hopes be grieving,
Idols-dust forever more!
Work! the nightfall draweth nearer,
Earthly pleasures fade away,
Death's dark sleep is fast approaching,
Ushering in eternal day.
Brothers, moments swift receding,
Bid us reap with steady hand,
Soon we'll turn our footsteps homeward,
To the heavenly harvest land,
Shining sheaves of love and labor
To the throne above we'll bear,
And our Father, all protecting,
Waits to greet his children there.
(Suitable for Concert Recitation.)
Come! Harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein;
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
As a tempest scorns a chain;
How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight
For many a countless hour,
At the childish boast of human might,
And the pride of human power.
When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the sea,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,
Or waiting the wayward breeze,
I could not but think how the world would feel
As these were outstripped afar,
When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car.
Ha ha! ha! They found me at last!
They invited me forth at length,
And I rushed to my throne with thunder blast,
And I laughed in my iron strength.
Oh, then ye saw a wondrous change
On the earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies
Nor wait for wind or tide.
Hurrah! hurrah! the giant streams,
Or the mountain's steep decline,
Time-space-have yielded to my power;-
The world! the world is mine!
The ocean pales, where'er I sweep,
To hear my strength rejoice.
Even winds and lightnings are left behind,
They tremble at my voice.
In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine,
My tireless arm doth play,
Where the rocks never saw the sun decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day.
I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden caves below,
And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.
I blow the bellows, I forge the steel
In all the shops of trade;
I hammer the ore, I turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made;
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint;
I carry, I spin, I weave;
And all my doings I put into print
On every Saturday eve.
I've no muscle to weary, no brain to decay,
No bones to be laid on the shelf.
And soon I intend you may go and play,
While I manage the world myself.
Then harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns a chain.
THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE.
Come from the woods with the citron-flowers,
Come with your lyres for the festal hours,
Maids of bright Scio! They came, and the breeze
Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas;—
They came, and Eudora stood robed and crowned,
The bride of the morn.
Jewels flashed out from her braided hair,
And pearls on her quivering bosom shone.
She looked on the vine at her father's door,
Like one that is leaving his native shore;
She turned and her mother's gaze brought back
Each hue of her childhood's faded track.
Oh! hush the song, and let her tears
Flow to the dream of her early years!
Holy and pure are the drops that fall
When the young bride goes from her father's hall;
She goes unto love yet untried and new,
She parts from love that hath still been true;
She wept-yet laid her hand the while,
In his, that waited her dawning smile.
"Why do I weep?-to leave the vine
Whose clusters o'er me bend.
A thousand thoughts of all things dear
Like shadows o'er me sweep.
I leave my sunny childhood here;
Oh, therefore let me weep.
I leave thee, father; mother, I leave thee, too!
On thy breast pouring out joy and woe
I have found that holy place of rest
Still changeless, yet I go!
Lips that have lulled me with your strain,
Eyes that have watched my sleep!
Will earth give love like yours again?
Sweet mother! let me weep!"
|