The Maiden's Harvest by Maria Lowell

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There goeth, with the early light, / Across a barren plain, / One who, with face as morning bright, / Singeth, "I come again!

"And every grain I scatter free, / An hundred-fold shall yield, / Till waveth like a golden sea

This dark and barren field."

She casteth seed upon the ground

From out her pure white hand, / And little winds steal up around

To bear it through the land.

She strikes her harp, she sings her song; / She sings so loud and clear, / "Arise! arise! ye sleeping throng, / And bud and blossom here!"

When o'er the hills she passed away, / The Spring remembered her, / And came, with sun and air of May, / The barren earth to stir.

And dropping dew the spot did love, / And lingered there till noon; / And winds and rains moved on above

In softly-changing tune.

So, when the Autumn cometh round, / The golden heads bend low --

And near and nearer to the ground

Their royal beard doth flow.

The poor rejoice; in throngs they come

To reap the dropping grain; --

Their voices rise in busy hum:

"Who, who hath sowed the plain?

"And who hath wrought such bounteous cheer

Where all before was dead?"

They bless the unseen Giver dear

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