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John Greenleaf Whittier - Heap High the Golden CornJohn Greenleaf Whittier - Heap High the Golden Corn
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Heap high the farmer`s wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine ; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. We dropped the seed o`er hill and plain, Beneath t h e sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer`s noon I t s soft and yellow hair. And now, with autumn’s moonlit eves, Its harvest - time has come, We pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home. There, richer than the fabled gift Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold.
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