He that goeth forth with weeping,
Bearing precious seed in love,
Never tiring, ne­ver sleeping,
Findeth mercy from above.

Soft descend the dews of heaven,
Bright the rays celestial shine;
Precious fruits will thus be given
Through an influence all divine.

Sow thy seed; be ne­ver weary;
Let no fears thy soul annoy;
Be the prospect ne’er so dreary,
Thou shalt reap the fruits of joy.

Lo! the scene of verdure brightening,
See the rising grain appear:
Look again; the fields are whitening,
For the harvest time is near.