Iwill not againcursetheground anymore for man'ssake; for the imagination of man is evil from his youth; neither will I again smite any more every thing living, as I have done.While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.
When thou cuttest down thine harvest in thy field, and hast forgot a sheaf in the field, thou shalt not go again to fetch it: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the widow: that the L thy God may bless thee in all the work of thine hands.
The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.
Say not ye,There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for theyare white already to harvest.
He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; he canbring thysummerout of winter, though thou have no spring God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noontoillustrateall shadows,asthesheavesinharvestto fill all penuries. All occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.
There's Carol like a rolling car, And Martin like a flying bird, And Adam like the Lord's First Word, And Raymond like the Harvest Moon, And Peter like a piper's tune, And Alan like the flowing on Of water. And there's John, like John.
Earth is here so kind, that just tickle her with a hoe and she laughs with a harvest.
Tawny are the leaves turned but they still hold, And it is harvest; what shall this land produce? A meagre hill of kernels, a runnel of juice; Declension looks from our land, it is old. Therefore let us assemble, dry, gray, spare, And mild as yellow air.
There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.
In common truths that round us lie Some random truths he can impart, The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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