The Missionary | AdventAI

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Aug 18, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 32.

The Missionary.

DROPPING SEED.

The land was still; the skies were gray with weeping; Into the soft brown earth the seed she cast; "Oh! soon," she cried, "will come the time of reaping— The golden time when clouds and tears are past!" There came a whisper through the autumn haze, "Yea, thou shalt find it after many days."

Hour after hour she marks the fitful gleaming Of sunlight stealing through the cloudy lift; Hour after hour she lingers, idly dreaming, To see the rain fall, and the dead leaves drift. "Oh! for some small green sign of life," she prays, "Have I not watched and waited 'many days'?"

At early morning, chilled and sad, she hearkens To stormy winds that through the poplars blow; Far over hill and plain the heaven darkens, Her field is covered with a shroud of snow; "Ah! Lord," she sighs, "are these thy loving ways?" He answers—"Spake I not of many days?"

The snow-drop blossoms; the purple violet glistens On banks of moss that take the sparkling showers; Half-cheered, half-doubting yet, she strays and listens To finches singing to the shy young flowers. A little longer still his love delays The promised blessing—"after many days."

"Oh, happy world!" she cries, "the sun is shining! Above the soil I see the springing green; I could not trust his word without repining, I could not wait in peace for things unseen; Forgive me, Lord, my soul is full of praise; My doubting heart prolonged thy 'many days.'" —Selected.