Poems (Shipton)/The Day Laborer
THE DAY LABORER.
"In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good."—Eccles. xi. 6.
Sow ye beside all waters,
Where the dew of heaven may fall;
Ye shall reap, if ye be not weary;
For the Spirit breathes o'er all.
Sow, though the thorns may wound thee;
One wore the thorns for thee;
And, though the cold world scorn thee,
Patient and hopeful be.
Sow ye beside all waters,
With a blessing and a prayer;
Name Him whose hand upholds thee,
And sow thou everywhere.
Where the dew of heaven may fall;
Ye shall reap, if ye be not weary;
For the Spirit breathes o'er all.
Sow, though the thorns may wound thee;
One wore the thorns for thee;
And, though the cold world scorn thee,
Patient and hopeful be.
Sow ye beside all waters,
With a blessing and a prayer;
Name Him whose hand upholds thee,
And sow thou everywhere.
Sow when the sunlight sheddeth
Its warm and cheering ray;
For the rain of heaven descendeth
When the sunbeams pass away.
Sow when the tempest lowers;
For calmer days will break,
And the seed, in darkness nourished,
A goodly plant will make.
Sow when the morning breaketh
In beauty o'er the land;
And, when the evening falleth,
Withhold not thou thine hand.
Its warm and cheering ray;
For the rain of heaven descendeth
When the sunbeams pass away.
Sow when the tempest lowers;
For calmer days will break,
And the seed, in darkness nourished,
A goodly plant will make.
Sow when the morning breaketh
In beauty o'er the land;
And, when the evening falleth,
Withhold not thou thine hand.
Sow, though the rock repel thee,
In its cold and sterile pride,
Some cleft may there be riven,
Where the little seed may hide.
Fear not; for some will flourish;
And though the tares abound,
Like the willows by the waters
Will the scattered grain be found.
Work while the daylight lasteth,
Ere the shades of night come on;
Ere the Lord of the vineyard cometh,
And the laborer's work is done.
In its cold and sterile pride,
Some cleft may there be riven,
Where the little seed may hide.
Fear not; for some will flourish;
And though the tares abound,
Like the willows by the waters
Will the scattered grain be found.
Work while the daylight lasteth,
Ere the shades of night come on;
Ere the Lord of the vineyard cometh,
And the laborer's work is done.
Work in the wild waste places,
Though none thy love may own;
God marks the down of the thistle
The wandering wind hath sown.
Will Jesus chide thy weakness,
Or call thy labor vain?
The Word that for Him thou bearest
Shall return to Him again.
On! with thy heart in Heaven,
Thy strength—thy Master's might,
Till the wild waste places blossom
In the warmth of a Saviour's light.
Though none thy love may own;
God marks the down of the thistle
The wandering wind hath sown.
Will Jesus chide thy weakness,
Or call thy labor vain?
The Word that for Him thou bearest
Shall return to Him again.
On! with thy heart in Heaven,
Thy strength—thy Master's might,
Till the wild waste places blossom
In the warmth of a Saviour's light.
Sow by the wayside gladly,
In the damp dark caverns low,
Where sunlight never reacheth,
Nor healthful streamlets flow;
Where the withering air of poison
Is the young bud's earliest breath,
And the wild unwholesome blossom
Bears in its beauty—death.
The ground impure, o'ertrodden
By life's disfiguring years,
Though blood and guilt have stained it,
May yet be soft from tears.
In the damp dark caverns low,
Where sunlight never reacheth,
Nor healthful streamlets flow;
Where the withering air of poison
Is the young bud's earliest breath,
And the wild unwholesome blossom
Bears in its beauty—death.
The ground impure, o'ertrodden
By life's disfiguring years,
Though blood and guilt have stained it,
May yet be soft from tears.
Watch not the clouds above thee;
Let the whirlwind round thee sweep;
God may the seed-time give thee,
But another's hand may reap.
Have faith, though ne'er beholding
The seed burst from its tomb,
Thou know'st not which may prosper,
Or whether all shall bloom.
Room on the narrowest ridges
The ripening grain will find,
That the Lord of the harvest coming,
In the harvest sheaves may bind.
Let the whirlwind round thee sweep;
God may the seed-time give thee,
But another's hand may reap.
Have faith, though ne'er beholding
The seed burst from its tomb,
Thou know'st not which may prosper,
Or whether all shall bloom.
Room on the narrowest ridges
The ripening grain will find,
That the Lord of the harvest coming,
In the harvest sheaves may bind.