SOW in the morn your seed,
   At eve hold not your hand;
To fear and doubting give no heed,
    Broadcast it o’er the land.
2      We know not which may thrive,
    The late or early sown;
Grace keeps the precious seed alive
    When and wherever strown.
3      And duly shall appear,
    In living beauty, strength,
The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,
    And the full corn at length.
4      We cannot toil in vain;
    Cold, heat, and moist, and dry
Shall foster and mature the grain
    For garners in the sky.
5      Then, when the glorious end,
    The Day of God is come,
The angel reapers shall descend,
    And Heaven cry, ‘Harvest home.’
James Montgomery, 1771-1854