All around me glows the harvest
As I drop below the town,
And the pleasant song of workmen
On the breeze is floating down.

Far away the slender brooklet
Gleams upon the yellow plain,
Like a newly sharpened sickle
Dropped amid the golden grain.

By the town and through the valleys
Sweeps the flashing river fast,
Like a herald to the future
With a summons from the past.

Now my soul hath caught the music
Of the happy harvest strain,
And the stream of gladness flashes,
Like the brooklet, in my brain

And, responsive to the river,
How my spirit sweeps along,
As it goes to meet the future
With a purpose firm and strong!