Classic Poem

I waited long but now my joy is great
For that which once I sowed begins to appear
Though slow yet sure my harvest tis not late
For Him who guides the oft revolving year
I watch not for the crops that dying earth
Yields from her bosom to the tribes of men
I watch for those who come of heavenly birth
A Father's care a Father's love have been
But lightly spent do they repay the toil
My hand upon my vineyard oft bestows
Come learn to reap for me the wine and oil
From every field in plenty overflows
I bid thee enter as a laborer now
Go forth and thou shalt pluck from every bough