Sow in the morn thy seed,

At eve hold not thine hand:

To doubt and fear give thou no heed

Broadcast it o’er the land.

Thou knowest not which may thrive

The late or early sown;

Grace keeps the chosen germ alive,

When and wherever strewn.

And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength,

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear.

And the full corn at length.

Thou canst not toil in vain;

Cold, heat, and moist, and dry,

Shall foster and mature the grain

For garners in the sky.

Thence, when the glorious end,

The day of God is come,

The angel reapers shall descend,

And heav’n cry: Harvest home!