The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal

Thou shalt reap of that thou sowest; though thy grain be small and bare,
God shall clothe it as He pleases, for the harvest full and fair;
Though it sink in turbid waters, hidden from thy yearning sight,
It shall spring in strength and beauty, ripening in celestial light;
Ever springing, ever ripening;—not alone in earthly soil,
Not alone among the shadows, where the weary workers toil;
Gracious first-fruits there may meet thee of the reaping-time begun;
But upon the Hill of Zion, 'neath the Uncreated Sun,
First the fulness of the blessing shall the faithful labourer see,
Gathering fruit to life eternal, harvest of Eternity.

Let us watch awhile the sowers, let us mark their tiny grain,
Scattered oft in doubt and trembling, sown in weakness or in pain;
Then let Faith, with radiant finger, lift the veil from unseen things,
Where the golden sheaves are bending and the harvest anthem rings.

[‘Such as I have I sow, it is not much,’]

I.

‘Such as I have I sow, it is not much,’
Said one who loved the Master of the field;
‘Only a quiet word, a gentle touch
Upon the hidden harp-strings, which may yield

No quick response; I tremble, yet I speak
For Him who knows the heart, so loving, yet so weak,’

And so the words were spoken, soft and low,
Or traced with timid pen; yet oft they fell
On soil prepared, which she would never know
Until the tender blade sprang up, to tell
That not in vain her labour had been spent;
Then with new faith and hope more bravely on she went.

II.

‘I had much seed to sow,’ said one; ‘I planned
To fill broad furrows, and to watch it spring
And water it with care. But now the hand
Of Him to whom I sought great sheaves to bring,
Is laid upon His labourer, and I wait,
Weak, helpless, useless, at His palace gate.

‘Now I have nothing, only day by day
Grace to sustain me till the day is done;
And some sweet passing glimpses by the way
Of Him, the Altogether Lovely One;
And some strange things to learn, unlearnt before,
That make the suffering light, if it but teach me more.’

Yet, from the hush of that secluded room,
Forth floated wingèd seeds of thought and prayer;
These, reaching many a desert place to bloom,
And pleasant fruit an hundred-fold to bear;
Those, wafted heavenward with song and sigh,
To fall again with showers of blessing from on high.

III.

‘What can I sow?’ thought one, to whom God gave
Sweet notes and skilful fingers. ‘Can my song
Be cast upon the waters, as they lave
My feet with grateful echo, soft and long,
Or break in sunny spray of fair applaud?
Shall this be found one day as fruit to Thee, my God?’

He sang, and all were hushed. Oh, sweeter fall
The notes that pour from fervent fount of love,
Than studied flow of sweetest madrigal!
He sang of One who listened from above,
He cast the song at His belovèd feet;—
Some said, ‘How strange!’ And others felt, ‘How sweet!’

IV.

Another stood, with basket stored indeed,
And powerful hand both full and faithful found,
And cast God's own imperishable seed
Upon the darkly heaving waste around:
Yet oft in weariness, and oft in woe,
Did that good sower store, and then go forth to sow.

The tide of human hearts still ebbed and flowed,
Less like the fruitful flood than barren sea;
He saw not where it fell, and yet he sowed:
‘Not void shall it return,’ said God, ‘to Me!’
The precious seed, so swiftly borne away,
A singing reaper's hand shall fill with sheaves one day.

V.

Another watched the sowers longingly,
‘I cannot sow such seed as they,’ he said;
‘No shining grain of thought is given to me,
No fiery words of power bravely sped:
Will others give me of their bounteous store?
My hand may scatter that, if I can do no more.’

So by the wayside he went forth to sow
The silent seeds, each wrapped in fruitful prayer,
With glad humility; content to know
The volume lent, the leaflet culled with care,
The message placed in stranger hands, were all
Beneath His guiding eye who notes the sparrow's fall.

VI.

An opening blossom, bright with early dew,
Whose rosy lips had touched the Living Spring
Before the thirst of earth was felt; who knew
The children's Saviour, and the children's King,
Said, ‘What can I sow, mother?’ ‘Darling boy,
Show all how glad He makes you; scatter love and joy!

That sparkling seed he took in his small hand,
And dropped it tenderly beside the flow
Of sorrows that he could not understand,
And cast it lovingly upon the snow
That shrouded aged hearts, and joyously
Upon the dancing waves of playmates' thoughtless glee.

VII.

‘What seed have I to sow?’ said one. ‘I lie
In stilled and darkened chamber, lone and low;
The silent days and silent nights pass by
In monotone of dimness. Could I throw
Into the nearest furrow one small seed,
It would be life again, a blessèd life indeed!’

And so she lay through lingering month and year,
No word for Him to speak, no work to do;
Only to suffer and be still, and hear
That yet the Golden Gate was not in view;
While hands of love and skill, this charge to keep,
Must leave the whitening plain, where others now would reap.

[Such the sowing; what the reaping? Many a full and precious ear]

Such the sowing; what the reaping? Many a full and precious ear
Waved and ripened, fair and early, for the patient sowers' cheer.
Not without some gracious witness of God's faithfulness and love
Toiled they, waiting for the coming of the harvest-home above;
Word, and prayer, and song, and leaflet, found, though after many days,
Quickening energy and courage, brightening hope and wakening praise.

Yet how many a seed seemed trodden under foot, and left to die,
Lost, forgotten by the sower, never traced by human eye;
Many a worker meekly saying, ‘Lord, how thankful will I be,
If but one among a thousand may bring forth good fruit to Thee!’

[One by one, no longer]

One by one, no longer
Gently bid to wait;
One by one, they entered
Through the Golden Gate.

One by one they fell adoring
At the Master's feet,
Heard His welcome, deep and thrilling,
‘Enter thou!’ each full heart filling,
All its need for ever stilling—
All its restless beat.

Then the gift, the free, the glorious,
Life with Him, eternal life,—
Erst bestowed amid the weeping,
And the weary vigil-keeping,
And the bitter strife,—

Now in mighty consummation,
First in all its fulness known,
Dower of glory all transcendent,
Everlasting and resplendent,
Is their own!

100

All their own, through Him who loved them,
And redeemed them unto God!
New and living revelation
Of the marvels of salvation,
Wakes new depths of adoration,
New and burning laud.

Now they see their gracious Master,
See Him face to face!
Now they know the great transition
From the veiled to veil-less vision,
In that bright and blessèd place.

What a change has passed upon them!
Made like Him, the Perfect One,—
Made like Him whose joy they enter,
Him, the only Crown and Centre
Of the endless bliss begun.

[But Eternity is long]

But Eternity is long,
And its joys are manifold!
Though the service of its song
Never falters or grows cold,
Though the billows of its praise
Never die upon the shore,
Though the blessèd harpers raise
Alleluias evermore,
Though the eye grows never dim
Gazing on that mighty Sun,
Ever finding all in Him,
Every joy complete in one;—

101

Yet The Infinite is He,
In His Wisdom and His Might;
And it needs eternity
To reveal His Love and Light
To the finite and created!
Archangelic mind and heart
Never with His bliss was sated,
Never knew the thousandth part
Of the all-mysterious rays
Flowing from Essential Light,
Hiding in approachless blaze
God Himself, the Infinite.

Infinite the ocean-joy
Opening to His children's view;
Infinite their varied treasure,
Meted not by mortal measure—
Holy knowledge, holy pleasure,
Through Eternity's great leisure,
Like its praises, ever new.

So the blessèd sowers' gladness
In the free and royal grace
Should be crowned with added glory,
Woven with their earthly story,
Linked with time and place.

Glad surprise! for every service
Overflowing their reward!
No more sowing, no more weeping,
Only grand and glorious reaping,
All the blessing of their Lord.

102

[She who timidly had scattered]

I.

She who timidly had scattered
Trembling line or whispered word,
Till the holy work grew dearer,
And the sacred courage clearer,
Now her Master's own voice heard.

Calling shining throngs around her,
All her own fair harvest found;
Then, her humble name confessing,
With His radiant smile of blessing,
All her dower of gladness crowned.

II.

‘Welcome thou, whose heavenly message
Came with quickening power to me!
O most welcome to the portals
Of this home of bright immortals,
I have waited long for thee!’

‘Who art thou? I never saw thee
In my pilgrimage below,’
Said he, marvelling. ‘I will show thee,’
Answered he, ‘the love I owe thee,
Full and fervent, for I know thee
By the starlight on thy brow.

‘Words that issued from thy chamber
Turned my darkness into light;

103

Guided footsteps, weak and weary,
Through the desert wild and dreary,
Through the valley of the night.

‘Come! for many another waits thee!
All unfolded thou shalt see,
Through the ecstatic revelation
Of their endless exultation,
What our God hath wrought by thee.’

III.

Hark! a voice all joy-inspiring
Peals adown the golden floor,
Leading on a white-robed chorus,
Sweet as flute, and yet sonorous
As the many waters' roar.

He who sang for Jesus heard it!
‘'Tis the echo of thy song!’
Said the leader. ‘As we listened,
Cold hearts glowed and dim eyes glistened,
And we learned to love and long—

‘Till the longing and the loving
Soared to Him of whom you sang;
Till our Alleluia, swelling,
Through the glory all-excelling,
Up the jasper arches rang.’

IV.

'Mid the angel-constellations,
Like a star of purest flame,

104

Shining with exceeding brightness,
Robed in snowy-glistering whiteness,
Now a singing reaper came;

Came with fulness of rejoicing
That belovèd smile to meet:
‘Master, lo, I come with singing,
Myriad sheaves of glory bringing
To Thy dear and blessèd feet.’

Followed o'er the golden crystal
Glittering hosts with crown and palm;
Joining him whose voice had taught them,
To the praise of Him who bought them,
In a new and rapturous psalm.

V.

He who humbly watched the sowers,
Watched the reapers of the Lord;
Sharing all their jubilation,
Hailing every coronation,
Gladdened by their great reward.

‘Seed of others long I scattered,
Now their harvest joy is mine,
Kindling holy contemplation
Into glowing adoration,
Into ecstasy divine.’

So he chanted, But the Master
Beckoned through the shining throng;

105

While the praises of the choir
Rose into that silence, higher
Than the highest flight of song.

Great and gracious words were spoken
Of his faithful service done,
By the Voice that thrills all heaven;
And mysterious rule was given
To that meek and marvelling one.

VI.

Found the little child rich harvest
From his tiny seed of love;
Little footsteps followed surely
In the footprints marked so purely,
Till they met again above.

Aged ones and feeble mourners
Felt the solace of his smile;
Hastened on with footsteps lighter,
Battled on with courage brighter,
Through the lessening ‘little while,’

Till they too had joined the mansions
Where the weary are at rest.
Could that little one forget them?
Oh, how joyously he met them
In this dear home safe and blest!

And the Saviour, who had called him,
Smiled upon His little one;

106

On his brow, so fair and tender,
Set a crown of heavenly splendour,
With the gracious word, ‘Well done!’

VII.

Yet again a wondrous anthem
Rang across the crystal sea;
Harps and voices all harmonious,
Nearer, nearer, sweet, symphonious,
Meet for heaven's own jubilee.

One by one the singers gathered,
Ever swelling that great song,
Till a mighty chorus thundered,
Till the listening seraphs wondered,
As its triumph pealed along.

Onward came they with rejoicing,
Bearing one upon their wings,
With their waving palms victorious,
To the presence-chamber glorious
Of the very King of kings.

And a whisper, clear and thrilling,
Fell upon her ravished ear—
‘Lo, thy harvest song ascending!
Lo, thy golden sheaves are bending
Full and precious, round thee here!’

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘I have no harvest,
For I had no power to sow;

107

Burdening others, daily dying,
Year by year in weakness lying,
Still and silent, lone and low.’

Then a flash of sudden glory
Lit her long life-mystery;
By that heavenly intuition
All the secret of her mission
Shone, revealed in radiancy.

And she knew the sweet memorials
Of her hidden life had shed
Clories on the sufferer's pillow,
Calmness on the darkling billow,
Peace upon the dying bed.

Thousand, thousand-fold her guerdon,
Thousand, thousand-fold her bliss!
While His cup of suffering sharing,
All His will so meekly bearing,
He was gloriously preparing
This for her, and her for this!

[He that goeth forth and weepeth, seed of grace in sorrow bringing]

He that goeth forth and weepeth, seed of grace in sorrow bringing,
Laden with his sheaves of glory, doubtless shall return with singing.

University of Virginia Library

The Sowers.

[In the morning sow thy seed, nor stay thy hand at evening hour]

[‘Such as I have I sow, it is not much,’]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

[Such the sowing; what the reaping? Many a full and precious ear]

[One by one, no longer]

[But Eternity is long]

[She who timidly had scattered]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

[He that goeth forth and weepeth, seed of grace in sorrow bringing]