The Indiana State Sentinel

For the Sunday Sentinel.
A Song of the Corn,
BY MRS. O. HARRIS
A song, a song for the waving corn,
Adorning our vales and hills,
Still drinking the dewy wine, that morn
From her rosy flagon spills.
Still dancing merrily all day long,
And singing so sweet and low,
That breezes catch the whispered song
And murmur it as they go.
When vandal winds dash through the fields
Like warriors into the fight,
I see the glint of a thousand shields,
And scimitars flashing bright;
I see the crested heads bow low,
And pennon with pennon meet,
And the blades flash on till the weary foe
Sinks fainting at their feet.
The hunted hare has a refuge here,
And the frighted quail a home.
When the dusky shades of night draw near,
'Tis hither the vespers roam.
Here night-wind minstrels love to meet,
And pipe till the break of morn;
Oh, sweet is the sound of their tinkling feet
In the merrily dancing corn,
Then, heart, be light as the dancing corn,
That drinks of its dewy wine!
A night of music, a rosy morn
Of a golden day be thine.
And soul, when the weary heart shall come
To thee, like a hunted hare,
Oh, may it find a sheltering home,
And a place of hiding there.
-Lewisville, Indiana.