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WHEAT AND TARES

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Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 3, 1878

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 51, No. 1.

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WHEAT AND TARES.

By Mrs. I. D. A. Stuttle

Far on the slope of the sunny mead Saw I the workers sowing seed. Scattering germs on the fruitful soil, Weary, and fainting with earnest toil; Hungry and thirsty, yet pausing not; Faithful their work, though the sun was hot.
Swift, from the dome of the azure sky, Saw I a beautiful angel fly; Pauses he now by the weary men, Bearing a scroll and a golden pen; Quick on the page all snowy white Did the recording angel write.
Faithful and true was the record kept, Just, for the writer never slept. Every thought that is good and true, Every deed that the workers do, Every word that is good or ill, Notes the scribe on the record still.
Time passed on, and the seeds had grown Tall and rank, which the men had sown. Saw I now, with a throb of pain, Ugly tares ’mong the golden grain. Silently, carelessly, unawares, Heedless fingers had scattered tares.
But the recording angel knew Which of the servants were good and true, Whose were the fingers that scattered tares, Whose were the lips that had uttered prayers; There was the record, all complete, Written down on the snowy sheet.
Saw I the Judge on his throne appear, Knew I then that the end was near. Bowed with shame was the guilty head When the recorder’s book was read, Hidden sins that were long concealed, Faithless hearts, were at last revealed.
Weary ones who had suffered pain Patiently scattering golden grain, Bravely enduring scorn and ill, Manfully bearing the burden still, Saw I rise to the azure dome, To sweetly rest in their Eden home.
Heard I the songs of the seraphs fair, Saw I the crowns that the ransomed wear,— Beautiful crowns with their jewels bright, Glowed on the brow with a wondrous light. Heard I the Saviour’s matchless voice Bidding the ransomed ones rejoice.
Restless soul, with thy load of sin, Bartering gold for the worthless tin, Ever before you the motto keep: “What you have sown you must also reap.” Ask your soul, with its load of cares, “What are you sowing, wheat or tares?”
MRS I. D. A. STUTTLE