Ever so little the seed may be.
Ever so little the hand;
But when it is sown, it must grow, you see,
And develop its nature, weed, flower, or tree;
The sunshine, the air, and the dew are free
At its command. If the seed be good, we rejoice in hope
Of the harvest it will yield.
We wait and watch for its springing up,
Admire its growth and count on the crop
That will come from the little seeds we drop,
In the great wide field. But if we heedlessly scatter wide
Seeds we may happen to find;
We care not, for culture or what may betide,
We sow here and there on the highway side;
Whether they've lived or whether they've died,
We never mind. Yet every sower must one day reap
Fruit from the seed he has sown;
How carefully then it becomes us to keep
A watchful eye on the seed, and seek
To sow what is good, that we may not weep
To receive our own.