We accept it because we have seen the vision. We know that we cannot reap the harvest, but we hope that we may so well prepare the land and so diligently sow the seed that our successors may gather the ripened grain.
quote by Liberty Hyde Bailey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Waiting On The Wheat Harvest
as you sow brothers sisters so you wheat harvest reap
as a grain of wheat dies germinates bears fruit to heap
Jesus will completely clean up threshing floor gather his wheat
chaff he will burn up with unquenchable fire hell suffering heat
an enemy came in over sowed weeds in among seed wheat
reapers harvest collect weeds burn them saving only wheat
Satan demands sifts men as wheat to blow away in sifting wind
Son of man will send angels to gather chosen ones from ill wind
a grain of wheat falls into the ground dies then bears fruit new life
so hate soul temptation in this world safeguard soul for eternal life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Harvest For The World
Gather everyman, gather everywoman
Celebrate your lives, give thanks for your children
When will there be a harvest for all the people
When will there be a harvest for all the world
Harvest For The World
All babies together, everyone a seed
Half of us are satisfied, half of us in need
Love's bountiful in us, tarnished by our greed
When will there be a harvest for the world
A nation planted, so concerned with gain
As the seasons come and go, greater grows the pain
And far too many feelin' the strain
When will there be a harvest for the world
Gather everyman, gather everywoman
Celebrate your lives, give thanks for your children
Gather everyone, gather all together
Overlooking none, hopin' life gets better for the world
Dress me up for battle, when all I want is peace
Those of us who pay the price, come home with the least
Nation after nation, turning into beast
When will there be a harvest for the world
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unveiled And Uncovered
Plow in hope and sow in tears,
For he who sows bountifully will reap bountifully;
This is like law, order, peace and calmness,
But my love is now unveiled and uncovered to you.
To the land of oil,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of oranges,
To the land of onions,
To the land of pepper,
To the land of coconuts,
But enslaved under the elements of the world!
And my love is now unveiled and uncovered to you.
Have i become your enemy by telling you the truth? !
Then think twice before you close that door;
For she who sows bountifully will reap bountifully.
To the land of beauty,
To the land of romance,
To the land of peace,
To the land of emotions,
To the land of love,
To the land of passion,
And with no stumbling blocks to my success! !
For the seeds are now well planted to yield a bumper harvest.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Harvest For The World
All babies together
Evry one a seed
Half of us are satisfied
The other half of us in need
Loves bountiful in us
Tarnished by our greed
Oh, when will there be a harvest.. for the world?
(harvest for the world)
A nations planted
So concerned with gain
As the seasons come and go, we wont wait in vain
Far too many, feelin the strain
(chorus)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest for the world)
Dress me up for battle
When all I want is peace
Those of us who pay the price
Come home with the least
And nation after nation, tuning into beasts
(chorus)
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest..
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You must give to get, You must sow the seed, before you can reap the harvest.
quote by Scott Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sow in the Morn Thy Seed
Sow in the morn thy seed,
At eve hold not thy hand;
To doubt and fear give thou no heed,
Broadcast it o’er the land.
Thou know’st not which may thrive,
The late or early sown;
God keeps His precious seed alive,
When and wherever thrown.
Thou canst not toil in vain;
Cold, heat, and moist, and dry,
Shall foster and mature the grain
For garners in the sky.
Thence, when the glorious end,
The day of God is come,
The angels reapers shall descend,
And heav’n cry, “Harvest Home.”
poem by James Montgomery
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No Foe Shall Gather Our Harvest
Sons of the mountains of Scotland,
Welshmen of coomb and defile,
Breed of the moors of England,
Children of Erin's green isle,
We stand four square to the tempest,
Whatever the battering hail-
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
Our women shall walk in honour,
Our children shall know no chain,
This land, that is ours forever,
The invader shall strike at in vain.
Anzac!...Tobruk!...and Kokoda!...
Could ever the old blood fail?
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
So hail-fellow-met we muster,
And hail-fellow-met fall in,
Wherever the guns may thunder,
Or the rocketing air-mail spin!
Born of the soil and the whirlwind,
Though death itself be the gale-
No foe shall gather our harvest
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
We are the sons of Australia,
of the men who fashioned the land;
We are the sons of the women
Who walked with them hand in hand;
And we swear by the dead who bore us,
By the heroes who blazed the trail,
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
poem by Dame Mary Gilmore
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Seed-Time And Harvest
As o'er his furrowed fields which lie
Beneath a coldly dropping sky,
Yet chill with winter's melted snow,
The husbandman goes forth to sow,
Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast
The ventures of thy seed we cast,
And trust to warmer sun and rain
To swell the germs and fill the grain.
Who calls thy glorious service hard?
Who deems it not its own reward?
Who, for its trials, counts it less
A cause of praise and thankfulness?
It may not be our lot to wield
The sickle in the ripened field;
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves,
The reaper's song among the sheaves.
Yet where our duty's task is wrought
In unison with God's great thought,
The near and future blend in one,
And whatsoe'er is willed, is done!
And ours the grateful service whence
Comes day by day the recompense;
The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed,
The fountain and the noonday shade.
And were this life the utmost span,
The only end and aim of man,
Better the toil of fields like these
Than waking dream and slothful ease.
But life, though falling like our grain,
Like that revives and springs again;
And, early called, how blest are they
Who wait in heaven their harvest-day!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Mummy Wheat
LAID close to Death, these many thousand years,
In this small seed Life hid herself and smiled;
So well she hid, Death was at least beguiled,
Set free the grain--and lo! the sevenfold ears!
Warmed by the sun, wooed by the wind's soft word,
Under blue canopy they hold their state:
For this, ah, was it not worth while to wait
Through all the centuries of hope deferred?
What could they know who laid the seed with Death
Of this Divine fruition fixed and planned?
Love--since Life parts us--lend my hand your hand
And look with me into the eyes of faith.
For here between your hand and mine there lies
A little seed we trust to Death to keep
Through unimagined centuries of sleep
Until the day when Life shall bid it rise.
Our harvest waits us. Who knows where or how,
What worlds away, wrapped in what coil of pain?
But Life shall bid us pluck gold sevenfold grain
Grown from the love she bids us bury now.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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sow generously free-willed
God gives His seed and grace
reap a harvest bountiful
quote by by John Celes
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Messidor
Put in the sickles and reap;
For the morning of harvest is red,
And the long large ranks of the corn
Coloured and clothed as the morn
Stand thick in the fields and deep
For them that faint to be fed.
Let all that hunger and weep
Come hither, and who would have bread
Put in the sickles and reap.
Coloured and clothed as the morn,
The grain grows ruddier than gold,
And the good strong sun is alight
In the mists of the day-dawn white,
And the crescent, a faint sharp horn,
In the fear of his face turns cold
As the snakes of the night-time that creep
From the flag of our faith unrolled.
Put in the sickles and reap.
In the mists of the day-dawn white
That roll round the morning star,
The large flame lightens and grows
Till the red-gold harvest-rows,
Full-grown, are full of the light
As the spirits of strong men are,
Crying, Who shall slumber or sleep?
Who put back morning or mar?
Put in the sickles and reap.
Till the red-gold harvest-rows
For miles through shudder and shine
In the wind's breath, fed with the sun,
A thousand spear-heads as one
Bowed as for battle to close
Line in rank against line
With place and station to keep
Till all men's hands at a sign
Put in the sickles and reap.
A thousand spear-heads as one
Wave as with swing of the sea
When the mid tide sways at its height;
For the hour is for harvest or fight
In face of the just calm sun,
As the signal in season may be
And the lot in the helm may leap
When chance shall shake it; but ye,
Put in the sickles and reap.
For the hour is for harvest or fight
To clothe with raiment of red;
O men sore stricken of hours,
Lo, this one, is not it ours
To glean, to gather, to smite?
Let none make risk of his head
Within reach of the clean scythe-sweep,
When the people that lay as the dead
Put in the sickles and reap.
Lo, this one, is not it ours,
Now the ruins of dead things rattle
As dead men's bones in the pit,
Now the kings wax lean as they sit
Girt round with memories of powers,
With musters counted as cattle
And armies folded as sheep
Till the red blind husbandman battle
Put in the sickles and reap?
Now the kings wax lean as they sit,
The people grow strong to stand;
The men they trod on and spat,
The dumb dread people that sat
As corpses cast in a pit,
Rise up with God at their hand,
And thrones are hurled on a heap,
And strong men, sons of the land,
Put in the sickles and reap.
The dumb dread people that sat
All night without screen for the night,
All day without food for the day,
They shall give not their harvest away,
They shall eat of its fruit and wax fat:
They shall see the desire of their sight,
Though the ways of the seasons be steep,
They shall climb with face to the light,
Put in the sickles and reap.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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All Will Be Well With You
Hello Eric!
All wil be well with you;
So, gather hope and courage on your mission,
Because, your vision in now due.
All will be well with you;
And, to accomplish this dream of your engagement is like,
The muse of your life in the land of many people! !
But get hope and move on,
For, a man got to be a man in times like this.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Harvest is Great
abode the meadow of flocking birds, and
echo the whole land it’s the season of
harvest, let the trumpeters loud its voice,
the great Jubilation has now welcome the
new horizon of hope and joy
let all the angels sing the beginning of
another years to stay, the gazing star of the
universe tremendously guide and leads the
whole way to the window of the galaxy
look at back, the stream goes without the
storm and the birds fly with each feather
silent the calmness of the wind beneath the
dazzling clouds of the sky
subside all the grain and wait until time
comes to grow in the land that makes it
flow and mold as a seed; the harvester has
joyfully hold the bleed and sow, till the
next season set to end
glance for a while, the birds have lovingly
fly for the sower to go …
poem by Antonio Liao
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Why 08 friend Thad
When Autumn comes promising gain.
This bounty we will gratefully accept.
The fruits of our hard labours we expect
assisted by the sunshine and the rain.
The roots and fruits and the sunripened grain,
which industrious workers will collect.
Although sometimes we learn by harsh precept.
The harvest fails and hunger stalks the land,
Then men adopt a different attitude.
Why this should be we cannot understand
Good harvests gain our earnest gratitude.
But should the harvest fail then we demand
from God an answer couched in language rude.
1-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Grim Reaper
The Grim Reaper will for sure, gather men who deny The Lord,
He will soon come without delay, taking unbelieving men away.
They’ll be taken and put aside, for it was The Lord, they denied.
Separated per their own desire; to be cast into the Lake of Fire.
Men shall reap what they sow; this is something all men know.
Deny God by human deduction, you will reap eternal destruction.
If you choose to accept The Lord, you will reap Eternal Reward.
The end result you will receive, for God is one you can’t deceive.
The Lord will not force your hand, but will help you to understand,
That Christ, who died upon a tree, is coming back for you and me.
First it’ll be to the clouds above, for those who received His Love.
Then down to the earth in victory, over those who refused to see.
But there is still an open door, and time to accept Christ as Lord.
And any time in any season, God with you, would like to reason,
That through His Only Son, your victory over sin has been won.
And that through Jesus Christ, you friend can have the gift of life.
Although I was once deceived, God’s Spirit spoke and I believed.
God then gave me eyes to see, now in Christ I will reap Eternity.
God wants no one to perish, and His Son He gave us to cherish.
But if you want not to believe, the Grim Reaper is who you’ll see.
Come, Here Is Adieu To The City
COME, here is adieu to the city
And hurrah for the country again.
The broad road lies before me
Watered with last night's rain.
The timbered country woos me
With many a high and bough;
And again in the shining fallows
The ploughman follows the plough.
The whole year's sweat and study,
And the whole year's sowing time,
Comes now to the perfect harvest,
And ripens now into rhyme.
For we that sow in the Autumn,
We reap our grain in the Spring,
And we that go sowing and weeping
Return to reap and sing.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Be Not Weary
Sometimes, when I am toil-worn and aweary,
And tired out with working long and well,
And earth is dark, and skies above are dreary,
And heart and soul are all too sick to tell,
These words have come to me like angel fingers
Pressing the spirit's eyelids down in sleep,
'Oh let us not be weary in well doing,
For in due season we shall surely reap.'
Oh, blessed promise! When I seem to hear it,
Whispered by angel voices on the air,
It breathes new life and courage to my spirit,
And gives me strength to suffer and forbear.
And I can wait most patiently for harvest,
And cast my seeds, nor ever faint, nor weep,
If I know surely that my work availeth,
And in God's season, I at last shall reap.
When mind and body were borne down completely,
And I have thought my efforts were all in vain,
These words have come to me so softly, sweetly,
And whispered hope, and urged me on again.
And though my labour seems all unavailing,
And all my striving fruitless, yet the Lord
Doth treasure up each little seed I scatter,
And sometime, sometime, I shall reap the reward.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Olney Hymn 16: The Sower
Ye sons of earth prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground;
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.
The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
The beaten path and highway side,
Receive the trust in vain;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.
But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy field,
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!
Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same Hand that give me seed
Provide a fruitful place!
poem by William Cowper
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The Sower
(Matthew, xiii.3)
Ye sons of earth prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground;
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.
The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
The beaten path and highway side,
Receive the trust in vain;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.
But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy field,
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!
Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same Hand that give me seed
Provide a fruitful place!
poem by William Cowper
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Of Hope (a fourteener)
Hope flourishes as flower which, when watered, nurtured, sprouts -
but first seed must take root in garden free from shady doubts.
mind's probing fingers, working, plucking weeds that stunt, consume;
strip hazards from environment so seed of Hope can bloom.
while some say Hope's perpetual and grows e'en without seed,
won't falter - feast or famine - and can withstand dirty deed.
I think more so Hope grows where effort made has clearly shown
that Faith was planted justly and then - Hope - the harvest grown.
Hope feeds upon a memory of expectations met,
where struggles as a seedling then grows larger, stronger yet.
And bow-tied with a ribbon, Hope becomes a gift still more -
for Hope as gift soon shape-shifts until Faith stands at the door.
yet caution wise to realize that Hope, when falsly gained
as dissapointment underlies; Faith/Hope fails - none retained.
let application/ action then help Hope become a tree,
the end result - a gift to self - instilled in me by me.
111909
poem by Terri Turrell
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