Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord, <br />And gather the bruised grain; <br />But the reapers had left the stubble bare, <br />And I trod the soil in pain. <br /> <br />The fields of my Lord are wide and broad, <br />He has pastures fair and green, <br />And vineyards that drink the golden light <br />Which flows from the sun's bright sheen. <br /> <br />I heard the joy of the reapers' song, <br />As they gathered golden grain; <br />Then wearily turned unto my task, <br />With a lonely sense of pain. <br /> <br />Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare, <br />And sought the quiet shade, <br />And over my dim and weary eyes <br />Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed. <br /> <br />I dreamed I joined with a restless throng, <br />Eager for pleasure and gain; <br />But ever and anon a stumbler fell, <br />And uttered a cry of pain. <br /> <br />But the eager crowd still hurried on, <br />Too busy to pause or heed, <br />When a voice rang sadly through my soul, <br />You must staunch these wounds that bleed. <br /> <br />My hands were weak, but I reached them out <br />To feebler ones than mine, <br />And over the shadows of my life <br />Stole the light of a peace divine. <br /> <br />Oh! then my task was a sacred thing, <br />How precious it grew in my eyes! <br />'Twas mine to gather the bruised grain <br />For the "Lord of Paradise." <br /> <br />And when the reapers shall lay their grain <br />On the floors of golden light, <br />I feel that mine with its broken sheaves <br />Shall be precious in His sight. <br /> <br />Though thorns may often pierce my feet, <br />And the shadows still abide, <br />The mists will vanish before His smile, <br />There will be light at eventide.<br /><br />Frances Ellen Watkins Harper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/go-work-in-my-vineyard/
