Poems (Linn)/Garnered Sheaves

by Edith Willis Linn

GARNERED SHEAVES.

DEAR Lord, I bring Thee all my sheaves
 Garnered in by-gone years;
Ripened by suns of joy and peace
 And watered by my tears.
Long I have dared to call them mine
But now I know that they are thine.

Life's grain is there,—a goodly yield,
 With fancy's flowers sweet.
All I have lived and loved and dared
 I cast before Thy feet;
And hidden 'mid my garnered sheaves
There are some dull and faded leaves.

And tares are there. I tried so long
 To pluck them from the grain.
My hands have bled, my tears have flowed;
 The past comes not again.
But Thou, Creator of each seed,
Art Lord of thistle and of weed.

To my poor sight all mortal-dim,
 Full light has not been given;
Yet I have sometimes thought that tares
 Might bloom the rose of heaven;
That what seems only fit to burn
May yield at last a rich return.

That when we fail, we often win;
 Rise highest, when we fall;
That by what seems our loss, we gain
 The grandest step of all.
However it may be, my past
Is lying at Thy feet at last.