Poems (Linn)/Garnered Sheaves
GARNERED SHEAVES.
DEAR Lord, I bring Thee all my sheaves Garnered in by-gone years;Ripened by suns of joy and peace And watered by my tears.Long I have dared to call them mineBut now I know that they are thine.
Life's grain is there,—a goodly yield, With fancy's flowers sweet.All I have lived and loved and dared I cast before Thy feet;And hidden 'mid my garnered sheavesThere are some dull and faded leaves.
And tares are there. I tried so long To pluck them from the grain.My hands have bled, my tears have flowed; The past comes not again.But Thou, Creator of each seed,Art Lord of thistle and of weed.
To my poor sight all mortal-dim, Full light has not been given; Yet I have sometimes thought that tares Might bloom the rose of heaven;That what seems only fit to burnMay yield at last a rich return.
That when we fail, we often win; Rise highest, when we fall;That by what seems our loss, we gain The grandest step of all.However it may be, my pastIs lying at Thy feet at last.