One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, One will fade as others greet thee, Every hour that fleets so slowly 105 OW in the morn thy seed, SOW At eve hold not thine hand; To doubt and fear give thou no heed, Broad-cast it o'er the land. Beside all waters sow, The highway furrows stock; Drop it where thorns and thistles grow, Scatter it on the rock. The good, the fruitful ground, Expect not everywhere; O'er hill and dale, by plots, 'tis found; Go forth then everywhere. Thou know'st not which The late or early sown; may thrive, Grace keeps the precious germ alive, And duly shall appear, In verdure, beauty, strength, Thou canst not toil in vain ; Hence, when the glorious end, The angel reapers shall descend, 106 66 "Harvest home!" NELL me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream," For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real, life is earnest, And the grave is not its goal; Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. Lives of good men all remind us 107 [HATSOEVER be the seed, Thought or feeling, word or deed, Buried howsoever deep, What we sow that shall we reap. Every day and every hour, 'Mid the sunshine, 'mid the shower, In the past full many a root In the future may we sow 108 O labour on; spend, and be spent, Go on; It is the way the Master went, Should not the servant tread it still? Go labour on; 'tis not for nought; Thy earthly loss is heavenly gain; Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not; The Master praises,-what are men? Go labour on; enough, while here, If he shall praise thee, if he deign Thy willing heart to mark and cheer; No toil for him shall be in vain. Go labour on; your hands are weak, Your knees are faint, your soul cast down; Yet falter not; the prize you seek Is near, -a kingdom and a crown! Go labour on, while it is day, The world's dark night is hastening on; Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away: It is not thus that souls are won. Men die in darkness at your side, Without a hope to cheer the tomb; The torch that lights time's thickest gloom. For toil comes rest, for exile home; 109 LORD, it belongs not to my care, Whether I die or live; To love and serve thee is my share, If short, yet why should I be sad Christ leads me through no darker rooms He that unto God's kingdom comes, Must enter by his door. Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet Thy blessed face to see; For if thy work on earth be sweet, What will thy glory be? Then shall I end my sad complaints, And join with the triumphant saints, My knowledge of that life is small, But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, 110 ORK, work to-day! the night comes fast, WORK Work, work to-day! for never more |