A Song for Merry Harvest

Bring forth the harp, and let us sweep its fullest, loudest string. The bee below, the bird above, are teaching us to sing A song for merry harvest; and the one who will not bear His grateful part partakes a boon he ill deserves to share. The grasshopper is pouring forth his quick and trembling notes; The laughter of the gleaner’s child, the heart’s own music floats. Up! up! I say, a roundelay from every voice that lives Should welcome merry harvest, and bless the God that gives. The buoyant soul that loves the bowl may see the dark grapes shine, And gems of melting ruby deck the ringlets of the vine; Who prizes more the foaming ale may gaze upon the plain, And feast his eye with yellow hops and sheets of bearded grain; The kindly one whose bosom aches to see a dog unfed May bend the knee in thanks to see the ample promised bread. Awake, then, all! ’tis Nature’s call, and every voice that lives Shall welcome merry harvest, and bless the God that gives.