The Harvest is Plentiful...

I read a delicious poem and the story behind it over at the Bonny Glen the other day. The colorful words and scene pictured brought several things to mind...

The Solitary Reaper

by William Wordsworth

Behold her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;

O listen! for the Vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travellers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands:

A voice so shrilling ne'er was heard

In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang

As if her song could have no ending;

I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending;—

I listen'd, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

..........................................

In many ways, I hope my life reflects that of The Reaper. A lass, laboring about her work, and singing "as if her song could have no ending". When souls "stop here, or gently pass", I hope they catch a glimpse of a working, maiden soul, a heart lifted in song; though not an eternally "melancholy strain", but a prayerful, joyous one. A life blended of work and song, the life of a laborer in the field. In some ways, solitary, but at the same time, surrounded by life. I shall say solitary in calling, but united in destiny.

And by the grace of the Lord of the vineyard, may those who pass by and see the maiden at her work be prompted to listen, perhaps "motionless and still", and as they continue on their way, the music in their heart be bore.


May the life, the work of this maiden be naught but one sweet, unending song, offered by a laboring heart and soul in the hopes of laying before the Master a bountiful harvest. Amen.

"The harvest is plentiful

but the workers are few.

Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore,

to send out workers

into his harvest field."

(Matthew 9:37-38)