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John McCrae - The Harvest Of The Sea
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The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
 The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o`er the thankful song
 Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.

The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
 And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever `mid the gleaners` song we hear
 The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep.
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