[PLYMOUTH PLANTATION: 1622] <br /> <br />The strong and the tender, <br />The young and the old, <br />Unto Death we must render;— <br />Our silver, our gold. <br />To break their long sleeping <br />No voice may avail: <br />They hear not our weeping— <br />Our famished love's wail. <br />Yea, those whom we cherish <br />Depart, day by day. <br />Soon we, too, shall perish <br />And crumble to clay. <br />And the vine and the berry <br />Above us will bloom; <br />The wind shall make merry <br />While we lie in gloom. <br />Fear not! Though thou starvest, <br />Provision is made: <br />God gathers His harvest <br />When our hopes fade!<br /><br />George Parsons Lathrop<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/famine-and-harvest/
