Sow in the morn thy seed;

At eve hold not thy hand;

To doubt and fear, give thou no heed;

Broadcast it o’er the land.

2 Thou knowest not which shall thrive—

The late or early sown;

Grace keeps the precious germ alive,

When and wherever strown;

3 The good, the fruitful ground

Expect not here nor there;

On hillside and in dale ’tis found;

Go forth, then, everywhere!

4 And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength,

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,

And the full corn at length.

5 Thou canst not toil in vain;

Cold, heat, the moist and dry,

Shall foster and mature the grain

For garners in the sky.

6 Thence, when the glorious end—

The day of God—is come,

The angel-reapers shall descend,

And heaven cry, Harvest-home.