WAITING FOR THE HARVESTERS.
And there she sat in ripened loveliness,An English mother; joying in her babes,Whose life was bright before her, and whose lipsWere breaking into language, with the sweetAnd loving sentences they learn so soon.Her face was very beautiful, and mirthWas native on her lip; but ever nowAs a sweet tone delighted her, the smileWent melting into sadness, and the lashDrooped gently to her eye, as if it knewAffection was too chaste a thing for mirth.It was the time for harvest, and she satAwaiting one. A breath of scented hayWas in the air, and from the distance cameThe noise of sickles, and the voices sentOut on the stillness of the quiet morn;And the low waters, coming like the strainOf a pervading melody, stole in,And made all music! ’Twas a holinessOf nature’s making, and I lifted upMy heart to Heaven, and in my gladness prayedThat if a heart were sad, or if a tearWere living upon earth, it might be theirsTo go abroad in nature, and to seeA mother and her gentle babes like these.
And there she sat in ripened loveliness,An English mother; joying in her babes,Whose life was bright before her, and whose lipsWere breaking into language, with the sweetAnd loving sentences they learn so soon.Her face was very beautiful, and mirthWas native on her lip; but ever nowAs a sweet tone delighted her, the smileWent melting into sadness, and the lashDrooped gently to her eye, as if it knewAffection was too chaste a thing for mirth.It was the time for harvest, and she satAwaiting one. A breath of scented hayWas in the air, and from the distance cameThe noise of sickles, and the voices sentOut on the stillness of the quiet morn;And the low waters, coming like the strainOf a pervading melody, stole in,And made all music! ’Twas a holinessOf nature’s making, and I lifted upMy heart to Heaven, and in my gladness prayedThat if a heart were sad, or if a tearWere living upon earth, it might be theirsTo go abroad in nature, and to seeA mother and her gentle babes like these.
And there she sat in ripened loveliness,An English mother; joying in her babes,Whose life was bright before her, and whose lipsWere breaking into language, with the sweetAnd loving sentences they learn so soon.Her face was very beautiful, and mirthWas native on her lip; but ever nowAs a sweet tone delighted her, the smileWent melting into sadness, and the lashDrooped gently to her eye, as if it knewAffection was too chaste a thing for mirth.It was the time for harvest, and she satAwaiting one. A breath of scented hayWas in the air, and from the distance cameThe noise of sickles, and the voices sentOut on the stillness of the quiet morn;And the low waters, coming like the strainOf a pervading melody, stole in,And made all music! ’Twas a holinessOf nature’s making, and I lifted upMy heart to Heaven, and in my gladness prayedThat if a heart were sad, or if a tearWere living upon earth, it might be theirsTo go abroad in nature, and to seeA mother and her gentle babes like these.
And there she sat in ripened loveliness,
An English mother; joying in her babes,
Whose life was bright before her, and whose lips
Were breaking into language, with the sweet
And loving sentences they learn so soon.
Her face was very beautiful, and mirth
Was native on her lip; but ever now
As a sweet tone delighted her, the smile
Went melting into sadness, and the lash
Drooped gently to her eye, as if it knew
Affection was too chaste a thing for mirth.
It was the time for harvest, and she sat
Awaiting one. A breath of scented hay
Was in the air, and from the distance came
The noise of sickles, and the voices sent
Out on the stillness of the quiet morn;
And the low waters, coming like the strain
Of a pervading melody, stole in,
And made all music! ’Twas a holiness
Of nature’s making, and I lifted up
My heart to Heaven, and in my gladness prayed
That if a heart were sad, or if a tear
Were living upon earth, it might be theirs
To go abroad in nature, and to see
A mother and her gentle babes like these.