Poems (Hale)/The Sower and his Seed

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE SOWER AND HIS SEED.

We met, a small and feeble band,
Around God's holy throne to stand;
The prayer of humble faith to raise,
And swell the choral hymn of praise.

Our strength was weak. But He whose ear
His children's humblest prayer will hear,
Was in our midst, a shining Light,
Our Sun by day, our Shield at night.

What though no ear could catch the song,
Breathed by the spotless herald-throng?
What though no tone in thunder spoke,
Or forth no visioned glories broke?

The "still, small voice" of holy love,
The Faith, which lifts the soul above,
The hope that checks each rising fear,
Proclaimed His gracious presence near.

There were the precious seed-drops given,
To root, to bud, to bloom for heaven.
There, too, the dewy influence fell,
Life's still, though onward march to tell.

Eternal God! whose eye can trace
The scattered seed, the dew of grace,
O! teach our weary, faltering feet,
Unharmed, life's gathering ills to meet.

And when our steps, though weal or wo
May crown our daily lot below,
Shall cease life's varied path to roam,
O! lead us to the Christian's home.