---
title: Improvement Era
description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930.
authors:
  - Pearson, Sarah E.
collections:
  - periodicals
tags:
  - magazine
  - improvement-era
periodical: Improvement Era
volume: 3
number: 2
published: 1899-12
publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations
publisher_place: Salt Lake City
language: en
type: magazine
reference: 'Pearson, Sarah E., "Harvest Time, a Poem," *Improvement Era* 3, no. 2 (December 1899): 87–88.'
source:
  url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera32unse
  transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers.
  identifier: improvementera32unse
start_page: 87
end_page: 88
rights:
  status: public-domain
  basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1899-12)
  source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera32unse
  publication_year: 1899
  note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1899, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright.
---

# Harvest Time, a Poem

<!-- page:87 -->

HARVEST TIME.

                   BY SARAH E. PEARSON.

       Stoop, stoop, stoop, over the cool, damp furrow,
         The morning air is wondrous sweet;
         The heart is light, and hands are fleet
         To hasten the task e'er the sun's full heat
           Beats upon the furrow.
         No time to listen to cat-birds call
        To each other over the garden wall;
        No time to watch the oak leaves fall.
           Or crimson maples shiver,
Or waves of ether, clear and blue, like waves of water quiver.

       Plod, plod, plod, and turn the mellow furrow.
         With clanking harness and shining share,
         The patient plow-horse treads with care.
         And the fallowing plow lays the harvest bare.
           In the depths of the long, straight furrow.
         And the pickers follow in friendly chase,
         Their pails resounding in eager race,
         A bantering smile on the winner's face
           As he empties his load of treasure.
And hastes again to the scene of fray, and fills again his measure.

       Think, think, think, and plod again the furrow.
         If hearts are happy,   and thoughts are glad.
         Or hearts and thoughts are heavy and sad,
         Still hands must fly, though brain goes mad,

            For a moment, with joy or sorrow.
         Till the mill-whistle signals the noonday hour.

<!-- page:88 -->

88                         IMPROVEMENT ERA.

               And lunch is spread in a shady bower
              Of trees on the edge of the field, wher6 showers
                Of frost-stained leaves are falling.
     And the cottage roofs in the distance sleep, and the drowsy kine are
                       calling.

                          through the the rough, brown furrow.
            Toil, toil, toil,

              With aching back, and throbbing head.
              With blistered hands, and lagging tread,
              Through the livelong day, that we may have bread.
                 Toil through the dusty furrow.
              Till the shadows fall like a filmy vail

             And shroud the outlines of hill and dale;
             And the forest echoes the nightengale;
               And evening winds are sighing.
     Then homeward wend our weary way with the long day's dying.

            And the prayer that we offer when day has fled.
                 To the Lord of the harvest, holy:
              "When the grain from the tares is forever won;
              When the last great harvest of life is done;
              And Thou gather Thy sheaves at set of sun,
                And seal them up to Thy glory.
              Oh, gather us. Father, unto Thy breast
              Where the toiler has earned such blissful rest;
              Has learned to appreciate the blest
                Reward for righteous striving;
     And the significance of labor won, and sacredness of living."