Scripture Verse

He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. Psalm 126:6

Introduction

portrait
Elizabeth A. Allen
1832–1911

Words: Eli­za­beth A. All­en, in The At­lan­tic Month­ly, Vol­ume 2, num­ber 10, Au­gust 1858, page 333.

Music: Hen­ry S. Rupp, in Hymns and Tunes (Elk­hart, In­di­ana: Men­non­ite Pub­lish­ing, 1890), num­ber 263 (🔊 pdf nwc).

portrait
Henry S. Rupp
1826–1898

Lyrics

The time for toil is past, and night has come,
The last and sad­dest of the har­vest eves;
Worn out with la­bor long and wea­ri­some,
Drooping and faint, the reap­ers hast­en home,
Each la­den with his sheaves,
Each la­den with his sheaves.

Last of the la­bor­ers, Thy feet I gain,
Lord of the Har­vest! and my Spi­rit grieves
That I am bur­dened not so much with grain,
As with a hea­vi­ness of heart and brain;
Master, be­hold my sheaves!
Master, be­hold my sheaves!

Few, light, and worth­less—yet their trif­ling weight
Through all my frame a wea­ry ach­ing leaves;
For long I strug­gled with my hap­less fate,
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late,
Yet these are all my sheaves,
Yet these are all my sheaves.

Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,
Brambles and flow­ers, dry stalks, and wi­thered leaves;
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at Thy feet
I kneel down re­ver­ent­ly, and re­peat
Master, be­hold my sheaves,
Master, be­hold my sheaves!

I know these blos­soms, clus­ter­ing hea­vi­ly
With ev­en­ing dew up­on their fold­ed leaves,
Can claim no val­ue nor uti­li­ty;
Therefore shall frag­ran­cy and beau­ty be
The glo­ry of my sheaves,
The glo­ry of my sheaves.

So do I ga­ther strength and hope anew;
For well I know Thy pa­tient love per­ceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do;
And, though the full, ripe ears be sad­ly few,
Thou will ac­cept my sheaves,
Thou will ac­cept my sheaves.