  LOVE'S HARVESTTHE furrows of life Time is plowing, But we mourn not the Spring which departs, For the husbandman Fate, in his sowing, Scattered love in the soil of our hearts. The sunshine of virtue and beauty Shall wake the sweet seedlings to bloom; The warm dews of mercy and duty Shall moisten the tractable loam. Oh, blow, grains of love to the binding! Oh, blush, golden fruit on the hill! 'Tis a dreary, long day to the grinding, But a short, pleasant way from the mill. But fondness and faith will be growing, Be the sky clear or cloudy above. When fortune is ripe to the mowing We shall gather our harvest of love! COME! walk with the world and go down to the destitute homes of the poor, Where weeping is louder than laughter, where sorrow and famine abide; Where Azrael reaps a full harvest and darkens each desolate door; And learn of the lowly and meek to lessen your thoughtless pride. I have seen my Lady flash by—a beauteous vision of ease; I have seen the widow at work till the shadows of night fled the day; I have seen God's poor drink the cup of sorrow and toil to the lees; I have seen the wicked get wealth, and the good go empty away. "The poor are unworthy, and sinning is found in the homes of the low. If we give we but pander to vice: the beggars our gifts will abuse." So say you, and pass in your pride, but your heart cries out as you go, "The vile are the first to ape virtue; the wicked the first to accuse!" Communist? Not I! But I hold that the miser who hugs to his heart What for him is but clay and a curse, but to some would be blessing and bread, Is selling his merciful Saviour. Better throw down the price and depart; Better, belike, do as Judas, put a rope to his miserable head. 'Twould be well with you, Midas, to pity the poor who are tarrying here. They may count to your just condemnation the tears which their hungry babes weep. Though you harden your heart for a lifetime, and turn an adamant ear, Their wails may pierce through to your coffin and trouble your long, last sleep. How read you the Scriptures? What say they? "These three with the world now abide, Hope, charity, faith, and the greatest is charity—blessed above all." Our hands should be fruitful and open; the field for our giving is wide, And blessing shall follow the gifts, though the power to give may be small. Then time may toil on with its tumults, its troubles and tempests of tears; The sweet, voiceless shadows shall hold us till striving and sorrow are past. We shall wake full refreshed to the judgment, though we slumber for eons of years; And the Lord shall shew us His glory, we shall be like to God at the last. COLUMBUS came to thee and called thee new! New World to him, but thy rich blood, bright gold, Lay cold where once the fires manifold Raged fiercely. New? Primeval forests grew, Had fallen, and were coal! Thine eagles flew Undaunted then as now, and where the bold South Rocky Mountains rise in fold on fold The Aztec to his God the victim slew. The tropic verdure of thy far north world Had passed forever, moon-like fading out. Sky-piercing mounts have reared them from the seas— The lost Atlantis has been depth-ward hurled, Since thou wert new!—Old! all thy landmarks shout, And bid us read thy waiting mysteries. |
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