Matt. xiii. 3 YE sons of earth, prepare the plough, Break up your fallow-ground; The sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round. The seed that finds a stony soil Shoots forth a hasty blade; But ill repays the sower's toil, Soon withered, scorched, and dead. The thorny ground is sure to balk All hopes of harvest there; We find a tall and sickly stalk, But not the fruitful ear. The beaten path and highway side Receive the trust in vain; The watchful birds the spoil divide, And pick up all the grain. But where the Lord of grace and power Has blessed the happy field, How plenteous is the golden store The deep-wrought furrows yield! Father of mercies, we have need Of thy preparing grace; Let the same hand that gives the seed Provide a fruitful place! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDER THE WATERFALL by THOMAS HARDY THE STARLIGHT NIGHT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS FESTOONS OF FISHES by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE PRINCESS: SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON LOVE IN A COTTAGE by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 2. ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE, 1740 by MARK AKENSIDE |