A Sower walked among his fields When Spring's fair glory filled the earth; He scattered seed with eager hand, And sowing, thought upon their worth. "These seeds are precious ones," he said. "The finest flowers shall be mine; And I shall reap rich, golden grain, When these are ripe at harvest time." "I'll watch their growth with earnest care, And faithfully will till the soil; With willing hands each passing day From morn till setting sun I'll toil. And when the reaping time shall come, A bounteous Harvest shall be mine; I shall rejoice at duty done When these are ripe at Harvest time." Forth to his fields at Harvest time, The Sower bent his steps again; The Reapers' song sang merrily, Their sickles gleamed 'mid golden grain. With joyous heart the Sower cried "Behold, what precious sheaves are mine; And labor brings its own reward, For these are ripe at Harvest time." O Master! in thy fields so fair We, too, are sowing precious seed. And like the Sower we will toil Till golden grain fulfil thy need. Then shall we hear thy loving voice, -- "Behold! what precious sheaves are mine. Let all be safely garnered in, For these are ripe at Harvest time." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHN BROWN'S BODY by CHARLES SPRAGUE HALL BORDER BALLAD [OR MARCH, OR SONG], FR. THE MONASTERY by WALTER SCOTT THE MARCH OF XERXES by LUIGI ALAMANNI TO THE KING OF THULE by HENRI ALLORGE A SONG OF PROGRESS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE DAWN PATROL by PAUL BEWSHER PSALM 137. 'BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON' by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |