70 August 
‘ ‘ The Com will be carried, and garnered up 
To gladden man’s heart both with loaf and cup ; 
And some of the seed the land now yields 
Will be brought again to its native fields, 
“And grow, and ripen, and wave next year 
As richly as this hath ripened here ; 
And we poor weeds, though needed not, 
Perchance may spring up on this very spot. 
“ But let us be thankful, and humble too ; 
Not proud and vain of a gaudy hue ; 
Ever remembering, though meanly drest, 
That usefulness is of all gifts the best.” 
L. A. Twamley. 
HARVEST HOME. 
Come, sons of Summer, by whose toil 
We are the lords of wine and oil; 
By whose tought labours and rough hands 
We rip up first, then reap our lands. 
Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come, 
And to the pipe sing harvest home ! 
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart 
Drest up with all the country art: 
See, here a maukin, there a sheet, 
As spotless pure as it is sweet; 
