Under Harvest Moon

From The Times Dispatch, November 2, 1914.

Last year the harvest moon looked down
    On bounteous fields of grain,
A peaceful scene where lovers strolled
    Along the shady lane.

In happy homes the mothers sang
    Their evening lullaby,
And little children had no fear
    Of danger lurking nigh.

But now the demon war is loosed
    And terrors fill the night,
The dangers of the burning home,
    The dangers of the fight.

Mothers and children hide and wait,
    They listen, fear, and pray,
While shells are bursting all around
    And armies pass their way.

Tonight upon the harvest field,
    The moon is shining bright,
Where soldier forms lie mute and still
    With faces ghastly white.

Oh, what a reaping! Oh, what loss!
    The flowers of earth cut down—
The voice of mourning in the field
    And by the ruined town!