Classic Poem

The earth, O Jehovah, is Thine,
And its fulness is all of Thy giving,
It teems with all fruits for our health,
And its grain becomes life for our living.

The rain became drink to the plant,
And the sun sped its growth to the spearing,
The days brought the stem to the ear,
And the weeks the full grain from its earing.

Oh! why are we sleepless with care?
Why so restless, though still in Thy keeping?
Why hold we to work without rest
While Thou workest for us through our sleeping?

The life is far higher than meat,
And the body than robes of its wearing,
And, Lord, if the low is Thy care,
The high will not want for Thy caring.

And, Oh! May Thy word that is sown
In our minds by Thy sowers' outflinging
Be not like to seed by the road
That is taken by birds ere its springing.

Nor seed that was cast on a rock,
And that opened its blades at upshooting,
But soon wither'd off, in the heat,
For the want of good soil for its rooting.

Nor yet like the seed that was choked
Among thorns, where the sower had thrown it;
Betokening Thy care-stifled word,
Where the thoughts of the world have o'ergrown it.

But be like the seed in good ground,
That may grow through our sleeping and waking,
And yield a full increase of grain,
So yielding good fruits for Thy taking.