"THE fields are white to harvest, look and see,
Are white abundantly.
The full-orbed harvest moon shines clear,
The harvest time draws near,
Be of good cheer."
"Ah woe is me!
I have no heart for harvest time,
Grown sick with hope deferred from chime to chime."
"But Christ can give thee heart Who loveth thee:
Can set thee in the eternal ecstasy
Of His great jubilee:
Can give thee dancing heart and shining face,
And lips filled full of grace,
And pleasures as the rivers and the sea.
Who knocketh at His door
He welcomes evermore:
Kneel down before
That ever open door
(The time is short) and smite
Thy breast, and pray with all thy might."
"What shall I say?"
Though one but say 'Thy Will be done,'
He hath not lost his day
At set of sun."