Farmer's magazine (January-December 1920) . its hard to think of loss!But mothers sayin nothin, and she clasps—a silver cross. —Robert W. Service. Low Tide on Grand-Pfe Was it a year or lives ago We took the grasses in our hands. And caught the summer flying low Over the waving meadow lands; And held it there between our hands ? And that we took into our hands—Spirit of life or subtler thing—Breathed on us there, and loosed the bandsOf death, and taught us, secret of some wonder-thing. Then all your face grew light, and seemedTo hold the shadow of the sun;The evening faltered, a

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Farmer's magazine (January-December 1920) . its hard to think of loss!But mothers sayin nothin, and she clasps—a silver cross. —Robert W. Service. Low Tide on Grand-Pfe Was it a year or lives ago We took the grasses in our hands. And caught the summer flying low Over the waving meadow lands; And held it there between our hands ? And that we took into our hands—Spirit of life or subtler thing—Breathed on us there, and loosed the bandsOf death, and taught us, secret of some wonder-thing. Then all your face grew light, and seemedTo hold the shadow of the sun;The evening faltered, and I deemedThat time was ripe, and years had doneTheir wheeling underneath the sun. So all desire and all fear and memory were naught;One to remember or forgetThe keen delight our hands had caught;Morrow^ and yesterday werenaught. The night has fallen, and the tide . .Now and again comes drifting home,Across these aching barrens wide,A sigh like driven wind or foam;In grief the flood is bursting home. —Bliss 22 Farmers Magazine December 16, 1920 1;

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, booksubjectagriculture, bookyear