 | Poems of home and country |  |
FAITH'S TRIUMPH.
Weary and wan, his furrows long,
The patient ploughman trod,
Turning, with endless care and pains,
The sluggish, barren sod;
And morning came, and daylight went,
And strength and hope were gone,
The tearful eyes grew dim,—and still
The wearying toil went on.
The patient ploughman trod,
Turning, with endless care and pains,
The sluggish, barren sod;
And morning came, and daylight went,
And strength and hope were gone,
The tearful eyes grew dim,—and still
The wearying toil went on.
Smitten beneath the burning sun,
The fainting workman cries,
“Master, how long this iron earth?
How long these brazen skies?”
“Ploughman, toil on in loving trust;
Yield thee to My sweet will.
Faith wins its victories; weary soul,
Believe, and labor still.”
The fainting workman cries,
“Master, how long this iron earth?
How long these brazen skies?”
“Ploughman, toil on in loving trust;
Yield thee to My sweet will.
Faith wins its victories; weary soul,
Believe, and labor still.”
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And tears and love and faith prepared
The deeply furrowed field,
To hide and keep the precious grain,—
Seed of a bounteous yield;
And dew and rain and sunny skies
Enriched each seed that fell,
Lost to the eye of man, but God
Knew how to guard it well.
The deeply furrowed field,
To hide and keep the precious grain,—
Seed of a bounteous yield;
And dew and rain and sunny skies
Enriched each seed that fell,
Lost to the eye of man, but God
Knew how to guard it well.
Oh, long and sad the sower's care,
As seasons went and came!
And God forgot the toiler's lot,
And put his hope to shame.
“Vain work,” a timid faith proclaimed;
“Poor toilers, faint and few!
Bury and hide your useless seed;
Bury the sowers, too.”
As seasons went and came!
And God forgot the toiler's lot,
And put his hope to shame.
“Vain work,” a timid faith proclaimed;
“Poor toilers, faint and few!
Bury and hide your useless seed;
Bury the sowers, too.”
But God's great mystery of grace
Its mighty pathway holds,
And, like the budding rose of June,
In beauteous life unfolds.
The bursting germ, the verdant leaf,
Break forth from hidden graves;
And far o'er all the swelling hills,
The joyful harvest waves.
Its mighty pathway holds,
And, like the budding rose of June,
In beauteous life unfolds.
The bursting germ, the verdant leaf,
Break forth from hidden graves;
And far o'er all the swelling hills,
The joyful harvest waves.
Whence are these myriad forms that bow
Before Messiah's throne?
Whence the grand chorus that uplifts
Thy name, O Christ, alone?
Whence are the clustering clouds that seek
The same celestial goal?
And one new song holds every lip,
One pulse-beat, every soul.
Before Messiah's throne?
Whence the grand chorus that uplifts
Thy name, O Christ, alone?
Whence are the clustering clouds that seek
The same celestial goal?
And one new song holds every lip,
One pulse-beat, every soul.
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These are the ploughman's garnered wealth,
Born of his toil and pain;
These are the sower's faith and tears,
Transformed to golden grain.
God watched the toilers at their work;
And, when His wisdom willed,
The pledge His loving heart had made,
His loving hand fulfilled.
Born of his toil and pain;
These are the sower's faith and tears,
Transformed to golden grain.
God watched the toilers at their work;
And, when His wisdom willed,
The pledge His loving heart had made,
His loving hand fulfilled.
Then hail, Lone Star! of all the wreath,
Thou art the brighest gem,
As once, o'er fair Judea's plains,
The Star of Bethlehem.
Shine on! We learn to pray and wait,
To toil and trust, through thee,—
A star of triumph on Christ's brow,
And faith's high victory.
Thou art the brighest gem,
As once, o'er fair Judea's plains,
The Star of Bethlehem.
Shine on! We learn to pray and wait,
To toil and trust, through thee,—
A star of triumph on Christ's brow,
And faith's high victory.
| Poems of home and country | |