  Sing, ye ripening fields of wheat, Sing to the breezes passing by, Sing your jubilant song and sweet, Sing to the earth, the air, the sky! Earth that held thee and skies that kissed Morning and noon and night for long, Sun and rain and dew and mist, All that has made you glad and strong! The harvest fields of the far, far west Stretch out a shimmering sea of gold! Every ripple upon its breast Sings peace, and plenty and wealth untold! Far as the eye can reach it goes, Farther yet, ’till there seems no end, Under a sky where blue and rose With the gold and turquoise softly blend. Here, where sweep the prairies lone, Broad and beautiful in God’s eyes, Here in this young land, all our own, The garner-house of the old world lies. —Jean Blewett. From “The Cornflower and Other Poems,” by permission. |
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