Miles and miles, before the eye,
Near and far, the wheat fields lie
Ripening, goldening, one by one,
Shimmering, glimmering in the sun,
As the south wind through them all
Makes the yellow billows fall --
Rise and fall, in cadence sweet --
Wavering, quavering through the wheat.

Let me tell you, if you please,
What in this a dreamer sees;
What the brightness and the gold
Of the fields to him unfold;
What the minstrel south wind sing,
In its mystic whisperings,
As his listening ear they greet
In the waving of the wheat.

Now, behold! an army comes!
Not with trumpets, not with drums;
Not with chariot, spear and shield,
As of old, they seek the field;
But the chariots they drive
Seem like creatures, all alive.
How they clatter, clank and clink --
Weary not, and almost think.

‘Tis a wonderful machine!
With its sickle bright and keen,
With its pulleys, belts and reels
Rods and cogs and many wheels;
With its strong, far-reaching arms,
Swinging on a thousand farms,
Gathering in the golden grain
Of the harvest, on the plain --
Leaving in its wake the sheaves
Thick as Vallambrosa’s leaves.

Fair beneath the sunny skies
Towering pyramids arise --
Broad, and round, and all complete --
Of the heavy-handed wheat.
Then the thresher plies his trade,
In his dusty ambuscade,
And a wide capacious spout
Lets the amber riches out.
Ingots, golden eagles, gleam
In that swiftly flowing stream --
Silver dollars, large and round,
For the tillers of the ground.

All of these, and more than these,
Proudly, now, the master sees;
For his toil a full reward
In the bounty of the Lord;
Respite from a hundred woes,
That have robbed him of repose,
With their worry and their fret;
Freedom from the bonds of debt --
From the mildew, deep and green,
Of the mortgage and the lien.

For himself, at length, he sees
Greater leisure, more of ease;
For the patient, loving wife,
Richer comforts, fuller life;
Books and music for the girls,
(Sweet and fair as clustered pearls;)
For the sturdy, helpful boys,
Higher pleasures, nobler joys;
Peace and Plenty, hand in hand, --
All the world a Canaan land.

These the pleasant sights that come
To the dreamer in his home,
Gazing on a summer day,
"O’er the hills, and far away:"
These the songs the winds repeat,
Mystic, musical and sweet,
In the waving of the wheat!