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[V. All day the reapers on the hill]
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[V. All day the reapers on the hill]

All day the reapers on the hill
Have plied their task with sturdy will,
But now the field is void and still.
And wandering thither, I have found
The bearded spears in sheaves well-bound,
And stacked in many a golden mound.
And while cool evening suavely grows,
While o'er the sunset's dying rose
The first great white star throbs and glows,
While from the clear east, red of glare,
The ascendant harvest moon floats fair
Through dreamy deeps of purple air;

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While in among the slanted sheaves
A tender light its glamour weaves,
An elfish light that lures, deceives,
Then, swayed by fancy's dear command,
Amid the past I seem to stand,
In hallowed Bethlehem's harvest-land!
And through the vague field, dim-descried,
A homeward host of shadows glide,
And sickles gleam on every side.
Shadows of man and maid I trace,
With shapes of strength and shapes of grace,
Yet gaze but on a single face.
A candid brow, still smooth with youth;
A smile of calm; a mien of truth...
The patient star-eyed gleaner, Ruth!