The Shasta courier., 1866-07-28
SHASTA COURIER.
THE REAPER's DREAM.

Wbereon a weary reaper sank
His garb was oh-his risage tanned;
The rusty sickle in his hand
Gould find no work in all the iano.
He saw the evenings chilly star
Above his native vale afar;
Amoment on the horizon sbar
It bung-then sank as with sigh;
And there the crescent moon went by,
An empty sickle down the sky.
To sooth his pain Sleeps tender palm
Laid on his brow its touch of balm
His brain received the slumberous calm
And soon, that angel without name'
Her robe dream, her face the same
~ The giyer of sweet visions, came
She touched his eyes: no longer seaieo'
They saw troop of reapers wield.
Their swift blades in ripening neld;
At each thrust of their snowy sleeves
A thrill ran through the future sheaVes,
Rustling like rain oudorest leaves
They were not brawny men VINO oo"eu
With harvest voices rough anu iouu'
But spirits moving as cloud :,
Like little lightnings in their noiu,
The silver sickles manifold
Slide musically through the gold
Oh. bid the morning stars combine
To match the chorus clear and hne
That rppled lightly down the line
A cadence of celestial rhyme,
The language of that cloudless CLINE,
To which their shining hands keep time
Behind them lay the cleaning rows,
Like those long clouds the sunset shows,
On amber meadows of repose;
But like wind the binders bright,
Soon followed in their mirthful might,
And swept them into sheaves of light.
Doubling the splendor of the plain,
There rolled the great celestial vain
To gather in the falling grain:
It's frame was built of golden bars,
Its glowing wheels were lit with stars,
The royal Haryest's car Of cars.
The snowy yoke that drew the load
On cleaning hoofs of silver trode,
And music was its only goad;
To no command of word or beck
1t moved, and felt no other check
Than one white arm laid on the neck
The neck whose light was over wound
With bells of lilies ringing round
Their odors till the air was drowned
The starry foreheads meekly borne,
With garlands looped from horn to horn,
Shone like the many colored morn.
The field was cleared Home went the hands
Like children linking happy hands,
While singing through their fathers lands;
Or arms about each other thrown
With amber tresses backward blown,
They moved as they were Musie's own.
The vision frightened more and more,
He saw the garner's glowing door,
And sheaves like sunshine, strew the floor
The floor was jasper-golden fails,
Swift sailing as whirlwind sails,
Throbbed mellow music down the wales.
He saw the mansion-all repose-
Great corridors and porticoes
Propped with the columns shining rows;
And these-for beauty was the rule
The polished pavements hard and cool,
Redoubled, like crystal pool.
And there the odorous feast was spread;
The fruity fragrance widely shed
Seemed to the floating music wed;
Seven angels, like the Pleads even,
Their lips to silver clarions given,G
Blew welcome round the walls of heaven.
In skyey garments, silky thin,
The glad retainers foated in
A thousand forms and yet no din,
And from the visage of the Lord,
Like splendor from the Orient poured,
A smile illumined all the board.
Far few the music's cireling sound,
Then foated back with soft rebound,
To Join, not mar, the converse round,
Sweet notes that melting still increased,
Such as ne'er cheered the bridal feast
OF king in the enchanted East.
Did any great door ope or close,
1t seemed the birth-time of repose,
The faint sound died where it arose;
And they who passed from door to door,
Their soft feet on the polished floor
Met their soft shadows-nothing more.
Then once again the groups were drawn
Through corridors or down the lawn,
Which bloomed in beauty like dawn;
Where countless fountains leaped alway,
Yelling their silver heights in spray,
The choral people held their way.
There mid the brightest, brightly shone
Dear forms he loved in years agone-
The earliest loyed-the earliest flown:
He heard mothers sainted tongue,
A sisters voice who vanished young;
While one still dearer sweetly sung
No further might the scene unfold
The gaZer S voice could not withhold,
The very rapture made him bold;
He cried aloud with clasped hands,
" oh happy fields! Oh happy bands,
Who reap the never failing lands!
"0h masters of these broad estates,
Behold before your very gates
A worn and waiting laborer waits !
Let me but toll amid your grain,
Or be cleaner on the plain,
So l may leave these fields ofpain
IA cleaner I will follow far,
With never look or word to mar,
Behind the Harvest's yellow car:
All day my hand shall constant be,
And every happy eve shall see
The precious burden borne to Theev
AT morn some reapers neared the place,
Strong men whose feet recoiled apace-
Then gathering round the upturned face,
They saw the lines of pain and care,
Yet read in the expression there
The look as Of an answered prayer.
Affoaf;r Hoatby,