Harvest

LENA M. HALL

It is not hard to frame a harvest song
When trees are sweet with blossoms in the spring,
When the soft showers vie with the constant sun,
And lush grass gives abundant pasturing.
It is not hard to praise, when the strong herd
Gives goodly increase, and the golden grain
Fills eager barns to bursting; when the fruit
Falls on the happy ground like summer rain.
And yet,
I thank Thee for lean years,
When I have known
That all my joy
Was in my God alone.

It is not hard to praise when skies are fair;
When winds blow soft, our harps sweep merrily; But in some sense-stilled moment we may hear,
"These things the Gentiles seek," and, "Follow me."
Not well-filled barns, nor golden fruits piled high
Inspired the prophet's joy; heed his word:
"The labour of the olive shall fail . . .
"Yet I will rejoice in the Lord."
And so,
I thank Thee for lean years,
When I have known
Full freedom to rejoice
In God alone.

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