Poem April 22, 1933 Issue

Fallow

W. GORDON MILLS

THE heart fears fallow hours; the pain
Of plowshares, and the long still days
Of purging, when the neighboring fields
Fling gold encirclements around
Its barrenness. Yet fallow ground
Shall come to fruitfulness and yields
Of plenty, and some distant blaze
Of harvest bring its wealth of grain.

Only in empty metaphor
Is man deprived of good. The earth
Spins eastward, and men say the sun
Has set: yet he that takes his rest
In trustfulness upon the breast
Of God, and lets His will be done,
Shall pass through darkness to the birth
Of dawns more radiant than before.