Sow ye beside all waters,
Where the dew of heaven may fall;
Ye shall reap if ye be not weary,
For the Spirit breathes o’er all.
Sow, though the thorn may wound thee,
One wore the thorns for thee;
And though the cold world scorn thee,
Patient and hopeful be.
Sow when the tempest lowers,
For calmer days may break;
And the seed in darkness nourished,
A goodly plant may make.
Sow when the morning breaketh
In beauty o’er the land;
And when the evening falleth,
“Withhold not thou thine hand,
Sow, the’ the rock repel thee,
In its cold and sterile pride;
Some cleft there may be riven,
Where the little seed may hide.
Fear not, for some will flourish,
And though the tares abound,
Like the willows by the waters,
Will the scattered grain be found.
Work while the daylight lasteth,
Ere the shades of night come on;
Ere the Lord of the vineyard cometh,
And the laborer’s work is done.
Watch not the clouds above thee,
Let the wild winds round thee weep;
God may the seed time give thee,
But another’s hand may reap.
Have faith, though ne’er beholding
The seed burst from its tomb;
Thou knowest not which may perish
Or what be spared to bloom.
Boom on the narrowest ridges,
The ripened grain will find;
That the Lord of the harvest coming,
In the harvest-sheaves may bind.