Songs of the Fields 



birds, and the river whispers their hiUaby, — the oat 

 field is the most beautiful on God's footstool, and 

 it is alive with musicians. 



A few days later, when blue tints give place 

 to the gold of approaching ripeness, it is lovely 

 in a warm, mellow Avay. Because there is unlim- The 

 ited sameness in a field of groiiving grain a pho- Song of 



'^ ^ '^ '. the Sheaves 



tograjihic study of it is not pleasing. The time 

 to reproduce it is wlien tlie cutting is over and 

 the harvest stands in shocks, from the canopy of 

 which crickets sing, a million in unison. Locusts 

 hum in the big trees, wild doves coo from tlie 

 thicket across tlie river, the clacking reaper rattles 

 a rhj'^thmic accomjianiment, and my partners, 

 bending over the sheaves, touch the scene with 

 life and color. I never see harvesters cutting 

 grain that I do not tliink of a command uttered 

 by INIoses three thousand years ago: "And when 

 ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not 

 wholly reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt 

 thou gather the gleanings of the harvest." ]Moses 

 intended these gleanings to remain for the "])oor 

 and the stranger." In my country gleanings fall 

 to the birds, since these fields know neither tlie 

 poor nor the stranger. Harvesting scenes are so 

 touched A\'ith life, music, and color that they al- 

 ways have been great favorites with artists and 

 poets. The most vivid shirt of a workman or 

 the red 'kerchief knotted around his throat is not 



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