THE noon was as a crystal bowl The red wine mantled through; Around it like a Viking's beard The red-gold hazes blew, As tho' he quaffed the ruddy draught While swift his galley flew. This mighty Viking was the Night; He sailed about the earth, And called the merry harvest-time To sing him songs of mirth; And all on earth or in the sea To melody gave birth. The valleys of the earth were full To rocky lip and brim With golden grain that shone and sang When woods were still and dim, A little song from sheaf to sheaf-- Sweet Plenty's cradle-hymn. O gallant were the high tree-tops, And gay the strain they sang! And cheerfully the moon-lit hills Their echo-music rang! And what so proud and what so loud As was the ocean's clang! But O the little humming song That sang among the sheaves! 'Twas grander than the airy march That rattled thro' the leaves, And prouder, louder, than the deep, Bold clanging of the waves: "The lives of men, the lives of men With every sheaf are bound! We are the blessing which annuls The curse upon the ground! And he who reaps the Golden Grain The Golden Love hath found."