Stanza 1
Ye sons of earth prepare the plow,
Break up your fallow ground!
The Sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.
Stanza 2
The seed that finds a stony soil,
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon withered, scorched, and dead.
Stanza 3
The thorny ground is sure to baulk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
Stanza 4
The beaten path and highway side
Receive the trust in vain
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.
Stanza 5
But where the Lord of grace and pow'r
Has blessed the happy field;
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!
Stanza 6
Father of mercies we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same hand that gives the seed,
Provide a fruitful place.