shining yellow garments, with armlets of gold upon their arms; and with
voice and instruments of forms unknown to the stranger, they make glad
the listening fields with the great harvest melody.

"In ancient days the children of our house conceived it in their hearts,
hearing it in all nature's voices; and it was with them day and night,
and they whispered it to one another when it was no louder than the
whisper of the wind in the forest leaves; and as the Builder of the
world brings from an hundred far places the mist, and the dew, and the
sunshine, and the light west wind, to give to the morning hour its
freshness and glory; and as we, his humbler followers, seek far off in
caverns of the hills and in the dark bowels of the earth for minerals
and dyes that outshine the flowers and the sun, to beautify the walls of
our house, so everywhere by night and day for long centuries did we
listen to all sounds, and made their mystery and melody ours, until this
great song was perfected in our hearts, and the fame of it in all lands
has caused our house to be called the House of the Harvest Melody; and
when the yearly pilgrims behold our procession in the fields, and listen
to our song, all the glory of the world seems to pass before them,
overcoming their hearts, until, bursting into tears and loud cries, they
cast themselves upon the earth and worship the Father of the whole
world.

"This shall be the chief glory of our house for ever; when a thousand
years have gone by, and we that are now living, like those that have
been, are mingled with the nature we come from, and speak to our
children only in the wind's voice, and the cry of the passage-bird,
pilgrims shall still come to these sun-bright fields, to rejoice, and
worship the Father of the world, and bless the august Mother of the
house, from whose sacred womb ever comes to it life and love and joy,