AFTER HARVEST

O Earth, O Mother, thou hast earned our praise! The long year through thou hast been good to us. Forgive us were we ever mutinous Or unbelieving in thy strange, sure ways. Sometimes, alas, we watched with wild amaze Thy passing, for thou wert imperious Indeed; and our estate seemed perilous, And we as grass the wind unseeing sways. Then, we were blind: the least among us sees, Now, in each well-stripped vine and barren field, Each garden that is fast a-perishing, The promise April surely had revealed Had we had grace to bend our stubborn knees Who seek thee now with humble thanksgiving.