William Ross Wallace

A Harvest Hymn

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SMILE On, smile on, thou sentinel moon
From yonder Heaven’s pure, azure deep.
Over these happy hnrvest homes
Night fondly folds to sacred sleep,
While we who choose to wake, shall sing
With solemn tone our thankful lays
For all the opulence that fell
From Summer’s long alms-giving days,
Whose golden banners were unfurled,
Like benedictions o’er the world.


We’ll sing the Sun who kissed his bride,
His own dear, emerald-mantled Earth,
With the same passionate, burning lips,
As when she sparkled into birth;
Nor ceased until he saw her sweet,
Broad bosom full of murmuring leaves,
And bursting buds that prophets were
Of ruby fruit and golden sheaves:
0, burning bridegroom! what delight
Imparadised thine eager sight!


We’ll sing the Clouds, whose generous hands
Bore up their urns, brimful of rain;
And leaned them till they overflowed
Upon the mountain-side and plain.
0, how your dark eyes flashed with joy
In lightnings, as ye saw their mirth;
And how your thunderous voices broke
Delighted o’er the thirsty Earth,
Who like a bacchanal would reel
And drink at every glorious peal.


And yet, 0 Sun and Clouds! that brought
Such Eden to this home of ours,
Say, what were ye to Him who sent
Your might from His immortal towers?
What but the visible proofs that He
On yonder battlements above,
Is unto us, in beam or cloud,
The Soul, the very Soul of Love?
To Him our choral praises be—
Alms-Giver of Eternity!

NEW YORK, 1867.

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William Ross Wallace