A sower with weeping went forth to sow—
Went bearing the precious seed;
He passed where the
Wayside vines drooped low,
Passed over the dewy mead.
From early dawn till the stars came out,
He scattered the golden grain,
Alike on the hillside parchèd with drought,
Alike on the fertile plain.

The seed soon sprung up
Which the sower cast;
It grew both by night and day;
And lo, e’er the harvest time had passed,
A reaper strayed that way.
He reaped the grain with a happy song;
His sickle was keen and bright;
Heavy laden with sheaves he passed along
In the rosy, sunset light.

When the Lord of the Harvest
Shall come to receive
And garner His ripened wheat,
The sower and reaper together, their sheaves
With rejoicing shall lay at His feet;
Together shall enter the heav’nly rest,
To sow and to reap no more;
Together shall join in the song of the blest,
For the weeping time will be o’er.