SON, GO, WORK IN MY VINEYARD.
“Go, work in my vineyard,” I claim thee as mine;
I bought thee with blood, thee and all that is thine;
Thy time and thy talents, thy loftiest powers,
Thy warmest affections, thy sunniest hours.
I willingly yielded my kingdom for thee,
Left the song of archangels to hang on the tree;
In pain and temptation, in anguish and shame,
I paid thy full price, and my purchase I claim. “Go, work in my vineyard;” there’s plenty to do;
“The harvest is great, and the laborers few.”
There is weeding and fencing and clearing of roots,
And plowing and sowing, and gathering the fruits.
There are foxes to take, there are wolves to destroy;
All ages and ranks I can fully employ;
I have sheep to be tended, and lambs to be fed,
The lost must be gathered, the weary ones led. “Go, work in my vineyard;” Oh, “work while ’tis day,”
For the bright hours of sunshine are hastening away,
And night’s gloomy shadows are gathering fast;
Then the laboring time shall forever be past.
Begin in the morning, and toil all the day,
Thy strength I’ll supply, and thy wages I’ll pay;
And blessed thrice blessed, the diligent few
Who shall finish the work I have given them to do.