Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/114

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Will Jesus chide thy weakness,
 Or call thy labor vain?
The Word that for Him thou bearest
 Shall return to Him again.
On! with thy heart in Heaven,
 Thy strength—thy Master's might,
Till the wild waste places blossom
 In the warmth of a Saviour's light.

Sow by the wayside gladly,
 In the damp dark caverns low,
Where sunlight never reacheth,
 Nor healthful streamlets flow;
Where the withering air of poison
 Is the young bud's earliest breath,
And the wild unwholesome blossom
 Bears in its beauty—death.
The ground impure, o'ertrodden
 By life's disfiguring years,
Though blood and guilt have stained it,
 May yet be soft from tears.

Watch not the clouds above thee;
 Let the whirlwind round thee sweep;
God may the seed-time give thee,
 But another's hand may reap.
Have faith, though ne'er beholding
 The seed burst from its tomb,