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.