WHAT WILL THE HARVEST BE?
By Sel.
They are sowing their seed in the daylight fair,
They are sowing their seed in the noonday’s glare;
They are sowing their seed in the soft twilight;
They are sowing their seed in the solemn night.
When shall their harvest be? They are sowing their seed of pleasant thought,
In the spring’s clear light they have blithely wrought;
They have brought their fancies from wood and dell,
Where the mosses creep, and the flower-buds swell.
Rare shall the harvest be. They are sowing the seed of word and deed,
Which the cold know not, nor the careless heed;
Of the gentle word and kindest deed,
That have blest the heart in its sorest need.
Sweet shall the harvest be. And some are sowing the seeds of pain;
Of hate, remorse, and a maddened brain;
And the stars shall fall, and the sun shall wane
Ere they root the weeds from the soil again.
Dark will the harvest be. And some are standing with idle hand;
Yet they scatter seed on their native land.
And some are sowing the seeds of care,
Which their soil hath borne, and still must bear.
Sad will the harvest be. They are sowing the seed of noble deed,
With a sleepless watch and an earnest heed;
With a ceaseless hand o’er the earth they sow,
And the fields are whitening where’er they go.
Rich will the harvest be. Sown in darkness, or sown in light,
Sown in weakness, or sown in might,
Sown in meekness, or sown in wrath,
In the broad work-field, or the shadowy path;
Sure will the harvest be.