GARNERED SHEAVES.
DEAR Lord, I bring Thee all my sheaves
Garnered in by-gone years;
Ripened by suns of joy and peace
And watered by my tears.
Long I have dared to call them mine
But now I know that they are thine.
Garnered in by-gone years;
Ripened by suns of joy and peace
And watered by my tears.
Long I have dared to call them mine
But now I know that they are thine.
Life's grain is there,—a goodly yield,
With fancy's flowers sweet.
All I have lived and loved and dared
I cast before Thy feet;
And hidden 'mid my garnered sheaves
There are some dull and faded leaves.
With fancy's flowers sweet.
All I have lived and loved and dared
I cast before Thy feet;
And hidden 'mid my garnered sheaves
There are some dull and faded leaves.
And tares are there. I tried so long
To pluck them from the grain.
My hands have bled, my tears have flowed;
The past comes not again.
But Thou, Creator of each seed,
Art Lord of thistle and of weed.
To pluck them from the grain.
My hands have bled, my tears have flowed;
The past comes not again.
But Thou, Creator of each seed,
Art Lord of thistle and of weed.
To my poor sight all mortal-dim,
Full light has not been given;
Yet I have sometimes thought that tares
Might bloom the rose of heaven;
That what seems only fit to burn
May yield at last a rich return.
Full light has not been given;
Yet I have sometimes thought that tares
Might bloom the rose of heaven;
That what seems only fit to burn
May yield at last a rich return.
That when we fail, we often win;
Rise highest, when we fall;
That by what seems our loss, we gain
The grandest step of all.
However it may be, my past
Is lying at Thy feet at last.
Rise highest, when we fall;
That by what seems our loss, we gain
The grandest step of all.
However it may be, my past
Is lying at Thy feet at last.