The sower went forth sowing;

The seed in secret slept

Through days of faith and patience,

Till out the green blade crept;

And warmed by golden sunshine,

And fed by silver rain,

At last the fields were whitened

To harvest once again

O praise the heav'nly Sower

Who gave the fruitful seed,

And watch’d and watered duly,

And ripen’d for our need.

Behold! the heav’nly Sower

Goes forth with better seed,

The word of sure salvation,

With feet and hands that bleed;

Here in His church 'tis scattered,

Our spirits; are the soil;

Then let an ample fruitage

Repay His pain and toil.

O beautiful the harvest

Wherein all goodness thrives,

And this the true thanksgiving,

The first-firsts of our lives.

Within a hallowed acre

He sows yet other grain,

When peaceful earth receiveth

The dead He died to gain;

For, though the growth be hidden,

We know that they shall rise;

Yea, even now they ripen

In sunny paradise.

O summer land of harvest,

O fields for ever white

With souls that wear Christ's raiment

With crowns of golden light!

One day the heav'nly Sower

Shall reap where He hath sown

And come a gain-rejoicing,

And with Him bring His own;

And then the fan of judgment

Shall winnow from His floor

The chaff into the furnace

That flameth evermore.

O holy, awful Reaper

Have mercy in the day

Thou puttest in Thy sickle,

And cast us not away.