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Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in

the mow,

Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below;

The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before,

And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er.

Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade,

At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.

Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair,

Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair,

The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue,

To the quaint tune of some old psalm a husking-ballad sung.

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And like the wings of the sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.

But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.

Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes

Were looking into the darkness,

To see some form arise.

And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing, to and fro,

Now rising to the ceiling,

Now bowing and bending low.

What tale do the roaring ocean,

And the night wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement,

Tell to that little child?

And why do the roaring ocean,

And the night wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the colour from her cheek?

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

HERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death,

THER

And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between.

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

He kissed their drooping leaves;

It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,' The Reaper said, and smiled;

"Dear tokens of the earth are they,

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Where He was once a child.

They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,

And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love;

She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The Reaper came that day;

'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away.

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