“He reserveth unto us the appointed weeks of the harvest.”
FULL hands, scattering golden grain
Over hill and over plain,
Till the Master comes, again!
Glad eyes, lifted to His Face,
Shining down on us in grace
From the High and holy Place!
Faint not then for weary feet:
Carry still the message sweet,
Jesus all your need will meet.
Faint not then for aching head:
Let the tender words be said,
Let sad hearts be comforted.
Faint not test the reaping time
Find you fallen from your prime,
Strengthless for that work sublime.
Endless in its fadeless bloom,
Soon the Golden Day will come
Of the gracious Harvest-home.
Forward then with hearts aglow,
Still the living seed to sow,
Ere is past the precious “Now.”
Jesus coming is the strain
Bracing us for work again,
Healing weariness and pain.
“Christ is coming,” as the song
Sweeps in melody along,
Making heart and spirit strong,
Lo, the springing corn is seen,
Lovely in its robe of green,
Where the singers’ feet have been.
Fresher for the rain of tears,
Stronger for the toil of years:
Fair response to faithful prayers:
Glad encouragement to go,
Till He come, with hearts aglow,
Still the precious seed to sow.
E. STACEY-WATSON.
“HE that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him” (Ps. 126:6).