In all the granaries throughout the land The fanning mills chirr softly, sifting grain, Cleaning the seed to make a rugged stand; So Fate is doing here on this broad plain. In lands beyond the sea her sieves are swords But here a giant mill, whose sieves are storm And drouth and scorching winds and insect hordes, Has had the task of winnowing to perform. A new age dawns, a stern demanding age Requiring men and nations which are strong. By war and pestilence and Nature's rage, Fate has been choosing those who shall belong. Close are the meshes as bleak years have shown, By which the prairie winnows out its own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF THE MEAN AND SURE ESTATE by THOMAS WYATT SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 3. HER WORDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER by THOMAS CAMPBELL CURIOSITY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR MOUNTAIN FROLIC by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS PORTRAIT IN THE HORIZONTAL by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT IMPROMPTU by FRANCOIS JOACHIM DE PIERRE DE BERNIS |