From the Five Rivers

by Flora Annie Webster Steel

Some day I will seek mine too,

To rise from the level plain,

The old in the new.

III.

[HARVEST SONG.]

Scorching sun that shrivels and sears,

Withering wind in the rustling ears,

Rattle of death as the dry stalks fall,

Promise of life in the seed for all.

Flash of the sickles, sweat of the brows,