C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.


Nature’s bank-dividends.


  • And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
  • Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
  • Spenser.

  • To glean the broken ears after the man
  • That the main harvest reaps.
  • Shakespeare.

  • Our rural ancestors, with little blest,
  • Patient of labor when the end was rest,
  • Indulg’d the day that hous’d their annual grain,
  • With feasts, and offerings, and a thankful strain.
  • Pope.

  • Fancy with prophetic glance
  • Sees the teeming months advance;
  • The field, the forest, green and gay;
  • The dappled slope, the tedded hay;
  • Sees the reddening orchard blow,
  • The harvest wave, the vintage flow.
  • Warton.

  • Think, oh, grateful, think!
  • How good the God of Harvest is to you;
  • Who pours abundance o’er your flowing fields.
  • Thomson.

    The plump swain at evening bringing home four months’ sunshine bound in sheaves.


  • The feast is such as earth, the general mother,
  • Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles,
  • In the embrace of autumn.
  • Shelley.

  • For now, the corn house filled, the harvest home,
  • Th’ invited neighbors to the husking come;
  • A frolic scene, where work and mirth and play
  • Unite their charms to cheer the hours away.
  • Joel Barlow.

  • The harvest treasures all
  • Now gather’d in, beyond the rage of storms,
  • Sure to the swain; the circling fence shut up;
  • And instant winter’s utmost rage defy’d.
  • While loose to festive joy, the country round
  • Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth,
  • Shook to the wind their cares.
  • Thomson.

  • Glowing scene!
  • Nature’s long holiday! luxuriant—rich,
  • In her proud progeny, she smiling marks
  • Their graces, now mature, and wonder fraught!
  • Hail! season exquisite!—and hail ye sons
  • Of rural toil!—ye blooming daughters! ye
  • Who, in the lap of hardy labor rear’d,
  • Enjoy the mind unspotted.
  • Mary Robinson.