THE SHADOW IN HARVEST.
HUSHED is the harvest field that so lately resounded with mirth
For the gathering in of the harvest, and the joy of the fruits of the earth:
Hushed is the song of the reapers, for lo! in the midst of their toil
Another Reaper has entered to gather in his spoil.
A fall from a loaded waggon; a still form lying there,
The bright, gay tune he was whistling, still throbbing on the air.
Alas! for the news they are bearing to the white house under the trees,
Where the wife who will soon be a widow is nursing their babe on her knees.
"Baby," she sings, "My Baby! Daddy will come to us soon:
Daddy will come for the Mhellia, and we'll dance by the light of the moon.
What do you see, my darling, and why that sudden frown?
It is only a shadow, my darling, for the sun is going down,"
How shall they bear to ruin that pretty baby play!
How shall they dare to tell her what they must so quickly say!
A trembling hand on the gate: one look in her startled face—
No need for spoken words! God help her of His grace!
Like a lapwing over the meadow she has flown to her wounded mate;
One broken sob; then steady! the tears can be made to wait.
What recks she how it happened, or where the fault may lie,
She only knows that the sunshine is all gone out of her sky.