| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | The Prisoner of Love (1904).
V. God and the Harvest | | By Frederick William Orde Ward (1843–1922) |
| | | | “I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.” |
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HAST thou, dear brother, toiled through many years | |
| And seen no fruits, though thou hast freely sown | |
| Thy life in labour and with watchful tears | |
| Watered the soil yet none the richer grown? | |
| Remember that the reaping is God’s own, | 5 |
| And He can gather even of doubts and fears; | |
| We only plough and plant our little field— | |
| He is our Harvest, and His Love the yield. | |
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| Be sure, no kindly word or work may fail | |
| To leave a blessing, if we know it not | 10 |
| And our poor efforts often err and ail, | |
| While nothing that we do is without spot; | |
| Christ stands Yoke-fellow, in the lowliest lot; | |
| He is the light, and prayers at last prevail; | |
| And, should thy service seem a wasted part, | 15 |
| It still shall blossom in some happier heart. | |
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| Not ours to finish tasks or seek the sight | |
| Of precious increase and the praise of man, | |
| But just to scatter seed in nature’s night | |
| And leave with God the issue of His plan; | 20 |
| He will complete what He in Grace began, | |
| And order even thine errors all aright. | |
| Thou wert well paid, whatever clouds do come, | |
| If thou hast helped one wandering sinner Home. | | | |
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