Poems (Sherwin)/And let us not be weary
And let us not be weary in well-doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not."—Gal. vi. chap., 9 ver.
Oh, ye who toil and labour hard for good,
And strive to make the gospel understood,
Although no grateful thanks yet crown your care,
Nor fruit for all your well sown seeds appear;
Still faint not, but toil on,—nor fear,—
Flowers may spring up your rugged path to cheer.
Oh, faint not! Think how much must yet be done,—
Redemption's labour scarcely is begun.
A well sown seed within the ground may lie,
Long unobserved by every passer by:
O'er it a thousand careless feet may tread,
And it may be, to all appearance, dead:
Chill frosts will come, and harden all the ground,
And snow-flakes whiten every thing around;
Yet spring appears, and genial sun, and showers
Relax the earth and bring forth blooming flowers.
The little seed, which all had thought was dead,
Will struggle forth, and raise its tender head;
And 'neath the genial influence of spring,
A plenteous stock of fruit and flowers will bring.
Then be not weary in well-doing;—still
Toil on, and every task of life fulfil,
With purpose steadfast, and a virtuous aim,
Unheedful of the world's applause or fame.
Toil on and faint not,—though it may be hard;
Our deeds,—or good or bad,—will meet reward.
With whatsoever grain we sow our field,
It will, in time, a certain harvest yield.
And strive to make the gospel understood,
Although no grateful thanks yet crown your care,
Nor fruit for all your well sown seeds appear;
Still faint not, but toil on,—nor fear,—
Flowers may spring up your rugged path to cheer.
Oh, faint not! Think how much must yet be done,—
Redemption's labour scarcely is begun.
A well sown seed within the ground may lie,
Long unobserved by every passer by:
O'er it a thousand careless feet may tread,
And it may be, to all appearance, dead:
Chill frosts will come, and harden all the ground,
And snow-flakes whiten every thing around;
Yet spring appears, and genial sun, and showers
Relax the earth and bring forth blooming flowers.
The little seed, which all had thought was dead,
Will struggle forth, and raise its tender head;
And 'neath the genial influence of spring,
A plenteous stock of fruit and flowers will bring.
Then be not weary in well-doing;—still
Toil on, and every task of life fulfil,
With purpose steadfast, and a virtuous aim,
Unheedful of the world's applause or fame.
Toil on and faint not,—though it may be hard;
Our deeds,—or good or bad,—will meet reward.
With whatsoever grain we sow our field,
It will, in time, a certain harvest yield.