Frances Ridley Havergal (1836–1879)

NOW, the sowing and the weeping,

Working hard and waiting long;

Afterward, the golden reaping,

Harvest home and grateful song.

Now, the pruning, sharp, unsparing;

Scattered blossom, bleeding shoot!

Afterward, the plenteous bearing

Of the Master’s pleasant fruit.

Now, the plunge, the briny burden,

Blind, faint gropings in the sea;

Afterward, the pearly guerdon

That shall make the diver free.

Now, the long and toilsome duty

Stone by stone to carve and bring;

Afterward, the perfect beauty

Of the palace of the King.

Now, the tuning and the tension,

Wailing minors, discord strong;

Afterward, the grand ascension

Of the Alleluia song.

Now, the spirit conflict-riven,

Wounded heart, unequal strife;

Afterward, the triumph given,

And the victor’s crown of life.

Now, the training, strange and lowly,

Unexplained and tedious now;

Afterward, the service holy,

And the Master’s “Enter thou!”