The Grand Haven news. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1858-18??, 1860-08-29
The Harvest.

The song OF the harvest is everywhere.
It's notes fall swectly upon the ear, as
they float upon the prairie; away there,
just beginning, and SO they will pass the
strain along, till the music has been watt
cd round the world.
Along "down the river" the cleaners
arc out after tho reapers; the golden
cones are rising here and there, as the
grain is dashing down like mountain
torrent, amid the clouded tempest Of the
thresher.
The music has foated up from the
south, has come over 10 us from Iowan
fields and down from Wisconsin, and
across from Michigan and up from Ohio.
And every syllable Of the song is Saxon |;
it needs neither Lexicon nor interpreter,
it is the great Lyric of the age.
And these are but random notes from
the great tune they are everywhere sing
ing. If we are not the most grateful
people in the world, it will only be be-
cause we are a nation of utter ingrates
With land, that might have been hal
lowed for Eden, and smiling with prairies,
just ready to laugh out aloud, we wonder
sometimes, what infatuation it is, that
keeps men the prisoners of the cities, the
only part of this beautiful world that
God did moi make, whom they can be so
independent, so care-free, so strong in
hand, or painting after the reaper on their
own broad acres.
The sun that only burns the brows Of
other men, turns the work of their hands
to glory end gold. The rains that bring
discomfoN TO other men, are beating the
reveille of life and plenty for them. The
clouds, that only fleck the blue or hide
tho day from other eyes have richest
freights consigned to fields their hands
have ploughed. The snow that seems a
cold, white shroud to other men, is a
downy mantle for their fall-sown grain.
Each month throughout tho year, comes
with errands and gifts to them, and there
is not Judas in all the twelve.
That our great progenitor should have
been Gardener is, to us, no mystery at
all, but that such direct, such childlike
appeals TO Natures generous bosom for
life's best gifts, should have been set aside
for books and bustling crowds, and men
prefer her offerings second hand, will for
ever remain a marvel.
The gold Of the mine is dross compar-
ed with the gold of the grain, and there
is no authorship so grand as that which
writes over thousands of acres the legible
language of plenty.
1t seems to us that the Prairies were
altered by the God Of Nature, and held
in reserve away in the West, and girded
round about the forests and lakes, TO re-
call man from the store, the shop, the Of
flee, and give glow to his cheek, strength
to his sinews, health to his pulses, and
gifts to his garners.
If the millennium ever comes, it will be
when there are fewer lawyers and physi-
clans, and merchants and editors, and q
world full of farmers and gardeners. We
rather think, though at present wanting
any direct evidence on the subject, that
Paradise will reappear where it was found
at first, in some glorious garden or other.
Our hopes point to the Far West as an
eligible spot for breaking up the old fol-
lows again, and where tho sons and daugh-
ters of the long gone tenants of Eden,
may enter into the latter day inheritance.
Chicago Journal.