Poem July 17, 1937 Issue

The Sower

OLGA CYPRIAN COOMBER

A sower went forth to sow one day,
His step was light and his spirit gay;
Freely and fast, from his open hand,
The golden grain bespread the land,
For the sower strewed from a boundless store
That, scattered abroad, increased the more.
No selfish blessing did he ask,
Nor claim reward for his tireless task;
For the Father's bounty, overflowing,
Must be shared through constant, careful sowing;
Nor gave he thought what seed should thrive,
Nor what might shrivel, nor what might live,
Nor feared he wind both shrill and cold,
Nor wild birds wandering overbold.
He sowed with joy that the good, rich seed
Might every weary wanderer feed;
He sowed with a love that warmly glowed,
And a faith that sped him on his road.
What though the thorns on yonder hill
Should push and choke the seed until
It withered? What though rocky soil
Should make a jest of his tireless toil?
There is good ground yet, where the rich, soft earth
Will receive the seed, and warm the birth
Of the tender plant that will soon appear
Straight and strong, till the ripening ear,
Gilded and mellowed by Love's sunshine,
Watered by dewdrops of Truth divine,
Bears fruitage full, and the harvest time
Betokens that sower's work—sublime!

Thus should we all, who reap our fill
Of the Father's gracious, loving will,
Share with the world our treasure trove—
Our sure supply of Truth and Love
That, scattered wide, flows in apace
With our spending, and leaves no empty space.
Not ours to lament the barren soil
In thought, that would fain our efforts foil;
The Father will break each heavy clod
Of the carnal mind, and prepare the sod.
With Him be the increase; but we must speed
With the planting, and minister thus to the need
Of the hungry, nor stay till the fields are white
With the Word, and fruitage gleams in sight.

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