The Sower Went Forth Sowing

The sow­er went forth sow­ing

The seed in sec­ret slept

Through weeks of faith and pa­tience

Till out the green blade crept;

And warmed by gold­en sun­shine

And fed by sil­ver rain

At last the fields were whit­ened

To har­vest once again.

O praise the heav­en­ly Sow­er

Who gave the fruit­ful seed

And watched and wa­tered du­ly

And rip­ened for our need.

Behold! the heav­en­ly Sow­er

Goes forth with bet­ter seed

The Word of sure sal­va­tion

With feet and hands that bleed;

Here in His Church ’tis scat­tered

Our spir­its are the soil;

Then let an am­ple fruit­age

Repay His pain and toil.

Oh

beau­te­ous is the har­vest

Wherein all good­ness thrives

And this the true thanks­giv­ing

The first fruits of our lives.

Within a hal­lowed acre

He sows yet oth­er grain

When peace­ful earth re­ceiv­eth

The dead He died to gain;

For though the growth be hid­den

We know that they shall rise;

Yea even now they rip­en

In sun­ny para­dise.

O sum­mer land of har­vest

O fields for­ev­er white

With souls that wear Christ’s rai­ment

With crowns of gold­en light.

One day the heav­en­ly Sow­er

Shall reap where He hath sown

And come again re­joic­ing

And with Him bring His own;

And then the fan of judg­ment

Shall win­now from His floor

The chaff in­to the fur­nace

That flam­eth ev­er­more.

O holy

aw­ful Reap­er

Have mer­cy in the day

Thou put­test in the sick­le

And cast us not away.