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From the October 1912 issue of The Christian Science Journal

Full is our harvest, and the waving grain Whispers through sun-filled hours of mercies sent; Heaven's ear bends low to catch the faintest strain Of human gratitude midst life's content. Oh, sing a song that naught of sorrow leaves; Send forth unceasing thoughts of love untold; Then blissful, go and gather in thy sheaves And lo! thy harvest is a thousandfold.