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


Elizabeth A. Allen

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).

Henry S. Rupp


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.