Life
LIFE is a conscious field,
Upon whose soil
The years bring ample yield
For human toil.
We are the workers there,
And hour by hour,
We scatter everywhere
A deathless power.
Each thought and word and deed
Is what we sow,
And every little seed
Shall spring and grow.
Oh! May our Father grant
His loving care,
To train each tender plant
Divinely fair.
And life shall not be vain,
If, in that day,
Our sheaves be golden grain,
And He shall say,
"Well done!" for his dear sake
Ye labored on;
And now he bids you take
The robe and crown.
C. A. Beckwith.