The Harvest Moon, 1917 – Christmas Term 1917

Oft when we dream the summer days are past
And autumn’s golden tints spread o’er the land,
Thro’ morning mists the hot sun breaks anew
And fills with glad surprise the hearts of men.
E’en so the harvest moon looks down serene,
And glittering star, stud the blue vault of heaven,
Telling of calm and peace through days of strife;
And in the darkened streets men pause to gaze
Up in the quiet skies: and some recall
The song of reapers, glee of little ones
Who rode atop the wain of gathered sheaves,
And visions rise of a sweet country home.
How strange that days of war should let us see
In city ways the glories of the stars,
The Great Bear and the Pleiades, whose glow
Was hidden by our earthly, garish lamps,
And few looked up and thanked for
Harvest Moon, And planet, and the calm pure light of heaven,
But sudden flash! and all the peace is gone!
Thunder of guns falls on the silent night,
The scream of warning syren searchlight blaze,
Cries of the little children hurrying steps,
Seeking for shelter from the falling bombs
War in the heart of the great Motherland!
Yet far above the din sails the calm moon,
Governing still the hours of the night,
Lovely, serene and shining, undismayed
Since God is in His Heaven, and His Peace,
Past human understanding, doth remain.
And filled they are with that enduring Peace,
Those women with firm voice and steadfast look
Who pray and sing and hold with quieting hand
Their weaker sisters, till they too are strong,
And feel that Christ is here, e’en as of old
Amidst the storm on Lake of Galilee;
And whether it be life or death. He still
Has placed beneath – His Everlasting Arms.

L.J. D.