Sonnet: Harvest-time
In Summer, farmers scythe the harvest fast;
Their weary frames from morn till eve stay bent;
The produce sheaved is dried in fields so vast;
The air with songs of joy from heart is rent.
The scorching Sun doesn't bother their tanned skin;
Despite their speed, their work is ne’er over;
All hands labour, young, old, both kith and kin,
For golden harvest, thanking Lord- Giver.
The reapers everywhere must work quite hard;
There is no time to eat or drink water!
Their sweat-drenched land has yielded them reward;
The struggle involved ain't a great matter.
Each morn they stand and pray to Sun- their God,
Without which, there's no food, peasant, landlord.
poem by John Celes
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Related quotes
Harvest and Autumn
Harvest, harvest
all you need,
is food and drink
and fruit indeed.
Harvest friend is harvest moon,
of course.
Autumn, Autumn
Harvest is in Autumn,
oh, what a great time to celebrate! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Karolina Gosztyla
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Bible Stories: Ruth (Part II)
A man of wealth great was Boaz-
A kinsman of Elimelech,
The (dead) husband of Naomi.
Ruth asked Naomi to permit
Her glean among the ears of grain
In rich Boaz’s field that day;
Naomi told her to do so.
Young Ruth began to glean the ears
After the reapers, in the field
Of rich Boaz, from morn that day;
From Bethlehem, then Boaz came
And told the reapers all that day,
‘May Lord, our God be with you all.’
And they replied, ‘May He bless you! ’
Boaz then asked his servant nigh,
‘Who is that young woman that gleans? ’
The servant said, ‘A Moabite
With Naomi, from Moab-land.’
Ruth begged Boaz, ‘Please let me glean
And gather grain after reapers! ’
Boaz told Ruth, ‘You may do so,
But venture not into next field.’
She could stay on with his maids there.
He told the servants, ‘Don’t touch her.’
If thirsty, drink from water-jars
Or from what servants shall too draw.
Ruth fell upon her face on ground
And bowed and asked, ‘Is it because
She was a foreigner, she found
Good favor in Boaz’s sight? ’
To this, Boaz replied to her,
‘I am aware of all you’ve done
For your mother-in-law after
Your husband died and how you’d left
Your parents and your place of birth
To people whom you never knew.’
‘May Lord, the God of Israel then
(Under whose wings, you take refuge)
Reward your work that looks so great
And pay wages in accordance.’
To this Ruth said, ‘I’ve found favor
In your sight, lord, indeed so well.
I thank you for your kind words said,
Although I’m not akin your maids! ’
At mealtime Boaz said to Ruth,
‘Come, dip your bread in vinegar,
And served her roasted grains with all.
Ruth ate and seemed so satisfied.
When she arose to glean once more,
Boaz commanded that she glean
Even among the sheaves this time,
And no one was to insult her.
He told them to pull out grain-ears
From sheaves and dropp them purposely,
Allowing Ruth to glean freely,
And no one was to rebuke her!
Until that evening, Ruth had gleaned;
She beat the ears to gather grain;
It was an ephah of barley!
She took the grain into the town
And showed it all to Naomi
Who appeared very satisfied.
Her mother-in-law then asked her,
‘Where did you glean today and work?
May God bless him who favored you! ’
Ruth told her his name was Boaz!
Naomi told, God is so kind
To both the living and the dead.
May God bless Boaz specially
She told, ‘He’s our close relative! ’
Ruth told all that Boaz had said;
Naomi felt so happy that
Ruth had been asked to glean again,
Until the barley harvest ends.
Ruth did as Boaz instructed
And lived with her mother-in-law!
poem by John Celes
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As God Gave Freely
As God gave freely unto me
gifts of compassion love patience time
so I also give freely unto you
in the fertile landscapes of harvest mind
have I not prepared fields broken ground
have I not sown in full measure love seed
will you now take ownership of these fields?
will you water fertilize tender growth shoots?
will you weed harvest all life love gift fields?
for 18 months more have I alone toiled prepared?
are not these fields without cost to you purchased?
did I not give sacred work all my time livelihood?
will you choose to help harvest these compassion seeds?
will you let peace love flower with purity in your minds?
will you turn swords into plough shears till peace fields?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Harvest Hymn
Mens Voices:
LORD of the lotus, lord of the harvest,
Bright and munificent lord of the morn!
Thine is the bounty that prospered our sowing,
Thine is the bounty that nurtured our corn.
We bring thee our songs and our garlands for tribute,
The gold of our fields and the gold of our fruit;
O giver of mellowing radiance, we hail thee,
We praise thee, O Surya, with cymbal and flute.
Lord of the rainbow, lord of the harvest,
Great and beneficent lord of the main!
Thine is the mercy that cherished our furrows,
Thine is the mercy that fostered our grain.
We bring thee our thanks and our garlands for tribute,
The wealth of our valleys, new-garnered and ripe;
O sender of rain and the dewfall, we hail thee,
We praise thee, Varuna, with cymbal and pipe.
Womens Voices:
Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the har- vest,
Sweet and omnipotent mother, O Earth!
Thine is the plentiful bosom that feeds us,
Thine is the womb where our riches have birth.
We bring thee our love and our garlands for tribute,
With gifts of thy opulent giving we come;
O source of our manifold gladness, we hail thee,
We praise thee, O Prithvi, with cymbal and drum.
All Voices:
Lord of the Universe, Lord of our being,
Father eternal, ineffable Om!
Thou art the Seed and the Scythe of our harvests,
Thou art our Hands and our Heart and our Home.
We bring thee our lives and our labours for tribute,
Grant us thy succour, thy counsel, thy care.
O Life of all life and all blessing, we hail thee,
We praise thee, O Bramha, with cymbal and prayer
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Blinded Dreams
Dreams of magical transformations blind,
A leaf to the wind is the fickle mind,
Whispers of the evil one,
Work when you get there,
now have some fun,
Hidden the deadly viper lies,
The blind lulled away to demise,
Passivity’s false harvest of dreams,
Reaps no more than it could glean,
Work the day long, Reap what you sow,
By the sweat of your brow watch the harvest grow,
This is the law unmoving and sure,
Dirtying your knuckles will make your heart pure,
Come to Christ work and pray,
Delay not, today is your day.
poem by Palious Thatcher
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Thoughts In A Wheat-Field
IN his wide fields walks the Master,
In his fair fields, ripe for harvest,
Where the evening sun shines slant-wise
On the rich ears heavy bending;
Saith the Master: 'It is time.'
Though no leaf shows brown decadence,
And September's nightly frost-bite
Only reddens the horizon,
'It is full time,' saith the Master,
The wise Master, 'It is time.'
Lo, he looks. That look compelling
Brings his laborers to the harvest;
Quick they gather, as in autumn
Passage-birds in cloudy eddies
Drop upon the seaside fields;
White wings have they, and white raiment,
White feet shod with swift obedience,
Each lays down his golden palm branch,
And uprears his sickle shining,
'Speak, O Master,--is it time?'
O'er the field the servants hasten,
Where the full-stored ears droop downwards,
Humble with their weight of harvest:
Where the empty ears wave upward,
And the gay tares flaunt in rows:
But the sickles, the sharp sickles,
Flash new dawn at their appearing,
Songs are heard in earth and heaven,
For the reapers are the angels,
And it is the harvest time.
O Great Master, are thy footsteps
Even now upon the mountains?
Are thou walking in thy wheat-field?
Are the snowy-wingèd reapers
Gathering in the silent air?
Are thy signs abroad, the glowing
Of the distant sky, blood-reddened,--
And the near fields trodden, blighted,
Choked by gaudy tares triumphant,--
Sure, it must be harvest time?
Who shall know the Master's coming?
Whether it be at dawn or sunset,
When night dews weigh down the wheat-ears,
Or while noon rides high in heaven,
Sleeping lies the yellow field?
Only, may thy voice, Good Master,
Peal above the reapers' chorus,
And dull sound of sheaves slow falling,--
'Gather all into My garner,
For it is My harvest time.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Barnfloor and Winepress
And he said, If the Lord do not help thee, whence shall I help thee? out of the barnfloor, or out of the winepress?
2 Kings VI: 27
Thou that on sin's wages starvest,
Behold we have the joy in harvest:
For us was gather'd the first fruits,
For us was lifted from the roots,
Sheaved in cruel bands, bruised sore,
Scourged upon the threshing-floor;
Where the upper mill-stone roof'd His head,
At morn we found the heavenly Bread,
And, on a thousand altars laid,
Christ our Sacrifice is made!
Thou whose dry plot for moisture gapes,
We shout with them that tread the grapes:
For us the Vine was fenced with thorn,
Five ways the precious branches torn;
Terrible fruit was on the tree
In the acre of Gethsemane;
For us by Calvary's distress
The wine was racked from the press;
Now in our altar-vessels stored
Is the sweet Vintage of our Lord.
In Joseph's garden they threw by
The riv'n Vine, leafless, lifeless, dry:
On Easter morn the Tree was forth,
In forty days reach'd heaven from earth;
Soon the whole world is overspread;
Ye weary, come into the shade.
The field where He has planted us
Shall shake her fruit as Libanus,
When He has sheaved us in His sheaf,
When He has made us bear his leaf. -
We scarcely call that banquet food,
But even our Saviour's and our blood,
We are so grafted on His wood.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Harvest For The World
All babies together
Evry one a seed
Half of us are satisfied
The other half of us in need
Loves bountiful in us
Tarnished by our greed
Oh, when will there be a harvest.. for the world?
(harvest for the world)
A nations planted
So concerned with gain
As the seasons come and go, we wont wait in vain
Far too many, feelin the strain
(chorus)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest for the world)
Dress me up for battle
When all I want is peace
Those of us who pay the price
Come home with the least
And nation after nation, tuning into beasts
(chorus)
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest..
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our deep respect for the land and its harvest is the legacy of generations of farmers who put food on our tables, preserved our landscape, and inspired us with a powerful work ethic.
quote by James H. Douglas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work Without Pay [mizz.copper]
Hammer closed the sale that day.
Your sweat man-profit of ways.
Work in the field, sun is hot.
Water boy, fast or maybe not.
Master wants more work today.
You have no real say.
What is the time of morn.
Sun down-fullmoon- work long.
Cant ever stop this pace.
Thought I was part of the human race.
More ships are comming ashore.
Work without pay-open door.
Man has found many ways.
Pet dogs and bones of may.
[GOOGLE: search, POEWHIT]
poem by Joe Poewhit
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Cool Water
Day by day ... whistle while you work ... our
Backs are breaking ... up from hollow earth ...
From end to end ... the noise begins ... in the
Human battle stations ... and the big ones
Coming in
Work, work, work, work ... work till holes are
Filled ... work, work, work, work ... bags of
Bone and skin ... lovers hold hands ... tossing
Their heads ... tangled in hair ... tied to earth
... with skin and glue
But their skin is the same as yours
Coming in for the world to see
They can sit at the table, too
The same blood as you and me
Speak very softly .. hold my hand ... someone is
Sleeping ... in my bed ... priests pass by ...
Worms crawl in ... one dreams to be ... one dream
For all
His skin is the same as yours
Is he not made the same as you?
And some have fallen down
And blood spilled on the ground
Work, work,work
Till his life is doneu
The old man .. is at our door ... and hes
Knocking ... knocking ... as his neighbors weep
... each day repeats ... are we nothing in your
Eyes? ... someone answer, someone answer ... this
Rusted garden gate ... can barely even stand ...
Their work is over now ... and rest will be at
Hand
Is their skin not the same as yours?
Can they sit at the table to drink
Cool water
Cool wateru
And his lungs are filled with rain...
And the waters rushing in...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dog Days of Summer
It’s a hot and lazy time of year
With temperatures rising high
A body doesn’t want to work
Doesn’t even want to try
It’s time to lie around and rest
Not exert much energy
It’s too hot to work but rather
We want to take it pretty easy
And if you do have to work
Either do it early in the morn
Or after the sun goes down
Sometime before the dawn
Oh how nice it feels
On these dog days of summer
When the sun drops down
The day has turned a bit cooler
So in the midst of winter time
When snow is on the hills
Dog days of summer sound
Kind of good amongst the chills!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Messidor
Put in the sickles and reap;
For the morning of harvest is red,
And the long large ranks of the corn
Coloured and clothed as the morn
Stand thick in the fields and deep
For them that faint to be fed.
Let all that hunger and weep
Come hither, and who would have bread
Put in the sickles and reap.
Coloured and clothed as the morn,
The grain grows ruddier than gold,
And the good strong sun is alight
In the mists of the day-dawn white,
And the crescent, a faint sharp horn,
In the fear of his face turns cold
As the snakes of the night-time that creep
From the flag of our faith unrolled.
Put in the sickles and reap.
In the mists of the day-dawn white
That roll round the morning star,
The large flame lightens and grows
Till the red-gold harvest-rows,
Full-grown, are full of the light
As the spirits of strong men are,
Crying, Who shall slumber or sleep?
Who put back morning or mar?
Put in the sickles and reap.
Till the red-gold harvest-rows
For miles through shudder and shine
In the wind's breath, fed with the sun,
A thousand spear-heads as one
Bowed as for battle to close
Line in rank against line
With place and station to keep
Till all men's hands at a sign
Put in the sickles and reap.
A thousand spear-heads as one
Wave as with swing of the sea
When the mid tide sways at its height;
For the hour is for harvest or fight
In face of the just calm sun,
As the signal in season may be
And the lot in the helm may leap
When chance shall shake it; but ye,
Put in the sickles and reap.
For the hour is for harvest or fight
To clothe with raiment of red;
O men sore stricken of hours,
Lo, this one, is not it ours
To glean, to gather, to smite?
Let none make risk of his head
Within reach of the clean scythe-sweep,
When the people that lay as the dead
Put in the sickles and reap.
Lo, this one, is not it ours,
Now the ruins of dead things rattle
As dead men's bones in the pit,
Now the kings wax lean as they sit
Girt round with memories of powers,
With musters counted as cattle
And armies folded as sheep
Till the red blind husbandman battle
Put in the sickles and reap?
Now the kings wax lean as they sit,
The people grow strong to stand;
The men they trod on and spat,
The dumb dread people that sat
As corpses cast in a pit,
Rise up with God at their hand,
And thrones are hurled on a heap,
And strong men, sons of the land,
Put in the sickles and reap.
The dumb dread people that sat
All night without screen for the night,
All day without food for the day,
They shall give not their harvest away,
They shall eat of its fruit and wax fat:
They shall see the desire of their sight,
Though the ways of the seasons be steep,
They shall climb with face to the light,
Put in the sickles and reap.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Agricultural, Implements and Machinery
Poor laborers, they did sad bewail,
When the machine displaced the flail ;
Theres little work, now, with the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows.
Labor it became more fickle
When the scythe took place of sickle ;
Labor still it did sink lower
By introduction of mower ;
And the work was done much cheaper
When they added on the reaper.
Another machine to it they join,
Mower, reaper, binder, they combine.
Machines now load and stow away
Both the barley and the hay,
And the farmers do get richer
With the loader and the pitcher.
Theres little work now for the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows ;
They sow and rake by the machine-
Hand labor's 'mong the things have been.
Armed with scythes, the old war chariot
Cut down men in the fierce war riot ;
Round farmer's chariot falls the slain,
But 'tis the sheaves of golden grain.
This harvest, now, of eighty-four,
Will great wealth on farmers pour,
For there is abundant yield
Of fruitful crops in every field.
poem by James McIntyre
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A Blessed Land
A blessed land
Yields Abundance from its soil,
It mountains hand
Its people, Harvest for their toil.
A faithful womb
That births forth much Provision,
She's one from whom
We sow our bountiful nutrition.
Our blessed land
We pray God keep Her so!
And that we stand
United, together make Her grow.
God bless Her with Peace
His Truth upon Her, shine-
May the Grace that is His
Bless this lovely land of mine!
'May the favor of the LORD rest upon us,
establish the work of our hands for us...
Psalm 90: 17
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’, Rev. & Dear Father
Praise the day when you were born;
Thank the Lord for this great morn;
Sing good hymns and blow your horn;
Pray for parents for God’ altar, you now adorn!
God chose you from the rest of flock,
To be a Shepherd with a frock;
And guide all safely to the Rock,
That quenches thirst of souls that knock!
A priestly life’s closest to God!
You are one most beloved to the Lord;
Live your life as per His Word;
Fight satan with this divine sword!
The love of God will guide you through
The trials, travail that you woo;
The harvest work is tough to do,
But God will find more, when time’s due!
The shepherd runs, trudges and walks;
The Holy Spirit in him talks;
He gives the wisdom, power of staff;
Oh, let wolves come and hyenas laugh!
You have done well so far but still
More things will happen by God’s Will;
May grace of God, your soul afill,
And show the way in vale, uphill!
You have a flock to tend night/ day;
You have to put them in God’s way;
You have to tell what is God’s Say;
You have to sacrifice and pray!
Blessed is the man of God;
He speaks like Jesus, every word;
Like Christ Lord, he shepherds the herd;
All live with God in accord.
Your work can’t be extolled by word;
Your earthly life can be bit hard;
In heaven will be your reward;
This is to you my Birthday Card!
Fondly dedicated to Rev & Dear Father Xavier Claudius,
Parish Priest, ‘Holy Family Church’, Perundurai, Erode, Tamilnadu, India
On his birthday, by families and parishners
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-10-2010
poem by John Celes
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The Golden Fields Of Rice
soon it will be harvest time
and you will see the women all wrapped in their sarong
their heads covered against the sun
bowing before these golden ricefields harvesting the
produce of their plowing and sowing men
soon it will be another happy hour
of drinking and singing and merry making
some debts will be paid off
the children shall remain in school
delicious dinners shall be served on the table
and happy conversations shall be in place
in the backyards of these working people
soon the fields will be empty again
some dried stalks will be left
some grains remain unpicked
by then it will be summer and the sun
will be so scorching
there will be changes going between the sowing and the harvesting
my faith shall keep staying amidst the cycles of the sun and the rain
the wet and the dry seasons of this tropical place
the mudding and the cracking of the paths
i will always keep going
to walk on like i am bound for a certain destination
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Man Has To Struggle
(Van Morrison)
Man makes his money and they call him rich
Deep down inside he knows that life's still a bitch
Man tries to keep things but they're taken away
Man has to struggle all the live long day
Man has to sweat and toil his life filled with trouble
Man got to step and fetch it on the double
Man has to work so hard to make it all pay
Man has to struggle all the live long day
Man keeps on moving 'cos he can t keep still
Man has to set his goals and climb up the hill
Man sees the mountains and the deep blue sky
Man has to struggle till the day that he die
Well yes siree Bob them there's the breaks
That's how it is my friend don't make no mistake
Man has to take some action all of the time
Man by his nature's never satisfied
Man just can't vegetate no matter what they say
Man has to make it all the live long day
Man has to create karma that s the way that it is
Man has to keep on going way beyond his will
Man has to keep on being cos there s nothing else
And man just always has to go for himself
Take all the gurus when they meditate
Transcend the mundane into some altered state
You just might get there, but you'll have to pay
Man's got to struggle all the live tong day
Well yes siree now Bob them there's the breaks
That s how it is my friend don't make no mistake
Man has to watch the weather and the food that he eats
Man has to keep fit else he's prone to disease
No matter what he does there's stress every which way
Man has to struggle all the live long day
Man is in conflict with his natural self
Man has to suppress his own desires and instincts
Man has to work so hard to keep them at bay
Man has to struggle all the l
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land Of Dispute
Throughout the years, this fertile ground of all time
produce an abundant rice harvest
but when Cane and Nila had to be planted
with the laws and promises
a bundle of money
measure of welfare change
everything is measured by the amount of money in the bag
in the bank, and the stock trading
Money in the hands of farmers flows like spring water
Their time out to plant sugar cane and Nila
Time to be a little rice,
rice plants were molt
abundant harvest changed complaints
Their well-being such as inhaled
West wind,
disappeared
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Hard Work,
hard work,
hard work is all beneficial,
hope for the best,
Keep your heart with no limits,
Since that life hast a good definition,
Since that hard work will bring a reward,
Hope and pray for the best,
That I never get tired,
You got to strive on and on,
Never fail in your coming up,
Since that Iam bold,
Since that I got work to do on earth,
There is a glory that is awaiting me,
That the good will win forever,
Get a promise that the Lord is the higher guide.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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