Sow in the morn thy seed, <br />At eve hold not thy hand; <br />To doubt and fear give thou no heed, <br />Broadcast it o’er the land. <br /> <br />Beside all waters sow; <br />The highway furrows stock; <br />Drop it where thorns and thistles grow; <br />Scatter it on the rock. <br /> <br />The good and fruitful ground, <br />Expect not here nor there; <br />O'er hill and dale, by plots, 'tis found; <br />Go forth, then, everywhere. <br /> <br />Thou know’st not which may thrive, <br />The late or early sown; <br />God keeps His precious seed alive, <br />When and wherever strown. <br /> <br />And duly shall appear, <br />In verdure, beauty, strength, <br />The tender blade, the stalk, the ear, <br />And the full corn at length. <br /> <br />Thou canst not toil in vain: <br />Cold, heat, and moist, and dry, <br />Shall foster and mature the grain <br />For garners in the sky. <br /> <br />Thence, when the glorious end, <br />The day of God is come, <br />The angels reapers shall descend, <br />And heav’n cry - 'Harvest Home.'<br /><br />James Montgomery<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-field-of-the-world/
