Poems (Gifford)/School Time
SCHOOL TIME.
Sweet, glad springtide of early life, Season of hopeful sowing;With rich promise and purpose rife, All just ready for growing.What possibilities lie hereinStores of wisdom and good to win,Here shall many a joy begin, Fruitage ere long bestowing.
Seems it oft wasted, the seed we hide? And do our tasks oft weary?Seems it so long to the summer tide! Seem the cold March winds dreary?Swiftly, swiftly will pass each day,And, half unheeded, in many a wayOur buried store shall its Life betray, We shall reap if we be not weary.
Ever the purest, choicest seed Give we our own heart's keeping,Give as we may where another has need, Sow, or with singing or weeping.Patiently let us prepare the soil,And steadily, earnestly, cheerily toil;None shall ever God's purpose foil, And He hath promised the reaping.
Sow we ever yet more and more, Sow for a life unending,All our purpose and all our lore Unto one climax tending.For until death shall our school hours last,And when our sowing is overpastWe may reap sure spoils in the harvest vast Gladness and glory blending.