Process
The seed, Lord, falls on stony ground
Which sun and rain can never bless —
Until the soil is broken found —
With harvest fruitfulness.
Plow then the rock, and plow again,
That so some blade of good may start,
After the searching share of pain
Has cut a furrow through my heart.
Which sun and rain can never bless —
Until the soil is broken found —
With harvest fruitfulness.
Plow then the rock, and plow again,
That so some blade of good may start,
After the searching share of pain
Has cut a furrow through my heart.
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