THE SEED.
THE farmer planted a seed—
A little, dry, black seed;
And off he went to other work—
For the farmer was never known to shirk;
And cared for what he had need.
The night came with its dew—
The cool and silent dew;
The dawn came, and the day,
And the farmer worked away
At labors not a few.
Home from his work one day—
One growing summer day—
His children showed him a perfect flower;
It had burst in bloom that very hour;
How, I cannot say.
But I know if the smallest seed
In the soul of love be cast,
Both day and night will do their part;
And the sower who works with a trusting heart
Will find the flower at last.