“This is as it should be; love and strength going hand in hand, and justice making the earth glad.”
The lands are lit With all the autumn blaze of golden-rod, And everywhere the purple asters nod And bend and wave and flit. Helen Hunt Jackson.
THE WEEDS
Carl Ewald
It was a beautiful, fruitful season. Rain and sunshine came by turns just as it was best for the corn. As soon as ever the farmer began to think that things were rather dry, you might depend upon it that next day it would rain. And when he thought that he had had rain enough, the clouds broke at once, just as if they were under his command.
So the farmer was in good humour, and he did not grumble as he usually does. He looked pleased and cheerful as he walked over the field with his two boys.
“It will be a splendid harvest this year,” he said. “I shall have my barns full, and shall make a pretty penny. And then Jack and Will shall have some new trousers, and I’ll let them come with me to market.”
“If you don’t cut me soon, farmer, I shall sprawl on the ground,” said the rye, and she bowed her heavy ear quite down towards the earth.