 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Harvest
They love me not, who at my table eat;They live not on the bread that Thou hast given;
The word Thou giv'st is not their daily meat,
The bread of life that cometh down from heaven;
They drink but from their lips the waters dry,
There is no well that gushes up within;
And for the meat that perishes they cry,
When Thou hast vexed their souls because of sin;
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With the ungathered crop is whitened o'er;
To those who reap it shall rich harvests yield,
The full eared grain all ripened for thy store;
No danger can they fear who reap with Thee,
Though thick with storms the autumn sky may be.
Poem No. 645; late 1838–early 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |