Go Work in My Vineyard
Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord,
And gather the bruised grain;
But the reapers had left the stubble bare,
And I trod the soil in pain.
The fields of my Lord are wide and broad,
He has pastures fair and green,
And vineyards that drink the golden light
Which flows from the sun's bright sheen.
I heard the joy of the reapers' song,
As they gathered golden grain;
Then wearily turned unto my task,
With a lonely sense of pain.
Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare,
And sought the quiet shade,
And over my dim and weary eyes
Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed.
I dreamed I joined with a restless throng,
Eager for pleasure and gain;
But ever and anon a stumbler fell,
And uttered a cry of pain.
But the eager crowd still hurried on,
Too busy to pause or heed,
When a voice rang sadly through my soul,
You must staunch these wounds that bleed.
My hands were weak, but I reached them out
To feebler ones than mine,
And over the shadows of my life
Stole the light of a peace divine.
Oh! then my task was a sacred thing,
How precious it grew in my eyes!
'Twas mine to gather the bruised grain
For the "Lord of Paradise."
And when the reapers shall lay their grain
On the floors of golden light,
I feel that mine with its broken sheaves
Shall be precious in His sight.
Though thorns may often pierce my feet,
And the shadows still abide,
The mists will vanish before His smile,
There will be light at eventide.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Gleaner
METHOUGHT I came unto a world-wide plain
Where souls stood thick as grain at harvest-tide,
And many reapers, full of pious pride,
With rapid scythe-sweeps mowed them down amain;
And zealous binders bound them up like grain
In sheaves: the reapers at each onward stride
Trod many souls down. These the binders eyed
With careless looks or glances of disdain.
But, following slow, a patient Gleaner came
And gathered all the Binders cast aside,
And made fair sheaves thereof. Whereat I cried:
“Why gather these? Who art thou? Name thy name!”
The Gleaner in a sad, sweet voice replied:
“The outcasts’ Saviour—for these, too, I died.”
poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Voices Of The Night : The Reaper And The Flowers
There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
'Shall I have nought that is fair?' saith he;
'Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.'
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
'My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,'
The Reaper said, and smiled;
'Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
'They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.'
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Reaper And The Flowers
There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
``Shall I have nought that is fair?'' saith he;
``Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.''
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
``My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,''
The Reaper said, and smiled;
``Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
``They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.''
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bible Stories: Ruth (Part II)
A man of wealth great was Boaz-
A kinsman of Elimelech,
The (dead) husband of Naomi.
Ruth asked Naomi to permit
Her glean among the ears of grain
In rich Boaz’s field that day;
Naomi told her to do so.
Young Ruth began to glean the ears
After the reapers, in the field
Of rich Boaz, from morn that day;
From Bethlehem, then Boaz came
And told the reapers all that day,
‘May Lord, our God be with you all.’
And they replied, ‘May He bless you! ’
Boaz then asked his servant nigh,
‘Who is that young woman that gleans? ’
The servant said, ‘A Moabite
With Naomi, from Moab-land.’
Ruth begged Boaz, ‘Please let me glean
And gather grain after reapers! ’
Boaz told Ruth, ‘You may do so,
But venture not into next field.’
She could stay on with his maids there.
He told the servants, ‘Don’t touch her.’
If thirsty, drink from water-jars
Or from what servants shall too draw.
Ruth fell upon her face on ground
And bowed and asked, ‘Is it because
She was a foreigner, she found
Good favor in Boaz’s sight? ’
To this, Boaz replied to her,
‘I am aware of all you’ve done
For your mother-in-law after
Your husband died and how you’d left
Your parents and your place of birth
To people whom you never knew.’
‘May Lord, the God of Israel then
(Under whose wings, you take refuge)
Reward your work that looks so great
And pay wages in accordance.’
To this Ruth said, ‘I’ve found favor
In your sight, lord, indeed so well.
I thank you for your kind words said,
Although I’m not akin your maids! ’
At mealtime Boaz said to Ruth,
‘Come, dip your bread in vinegar,
And served her roasted grains with all.
Ruth ate and seemed so satisfied.
When she arose to glean once more,
Boaz commanded that she glean
Even among the sheaves this time,
And no one was to insult her.
He told them to pull out grain-ears
From sheaves and dropp them purposely,
Allowing Ruth to glean freely,
And no one was to rebuke her!
Until that evening, Ruth had gleaned;
She beat the ears to gather grain;
It was an ephah of barley!
She took the grain into the town
And showed it all to Naomi
Who appeared very satisfied.
Her mother-in-law then asked her,
‘Where did you glean today and work?
May God bless him who favored you! ’
Ruth told her his name was Boaz!
Naomi told, God is so kind
To both the living and the dead.
May God bless Boaz specially
She told, ‘He’s our close relative! ’
Ruth told all that Boaz had said;
Naomi felt so happy that
Ruth had been asked to glean again,
Until the barley harvest ends.
Ruth did as Boaz instructed
And lived with her mother-in-law!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fishers of Men
I had a dream, a varied dream:
Before my ravished sight
The city of my Lord arose,
With all its love and light.
The music of a myriad harps
Flowed out with sweet accord;
And saints were casting down their crowns
In homage to our Lord.
My heart leaped up with untold joy;
Life's toil and pain were o'er;
My weary feet at last had found
The bright and restful shore.
Just as I reached the gates of light,
Ready to enter in,
From earth arose a fearful cry
Of sorrow and of sin.
I turned, and saw behind me surge
A wild and stormy sea;
And drowning men were reaching out
Imploring hands to me.
And ev'ry lip was blanched with dread
And moaning for relief;
The music of the golden harps
Grew fainter for their grief.
Let me return, I quickly said,
Close to the pearly gate;
My work is with these wretched ones,
So wrecked and desolate.
An angel smiled and gently said:
This is the gate of life,
Wilt thou return to earth's sad scenes,
Its weariness and strife,
To comfort hearts that sigh and break,
To dry the falling tear,
Wilt thou forego the music sweet
Entrancing now thy ear?
I must return, I firmly said,
The strugglers in that sea
Shall not reach out beseeching hands
In vain for help to me.
I turned to go; but as I turned
The gloomy sea grew bright,
And from my heart there seemed to flow
Ten thousand cords of light.
And sin-wrecked men, with eager hands,
Did grasp each golden cord;
And with my heart I drew them on
To see my gracious Lord.
Again I stood beside the gate.
My heart was glad and free;
For with me stood a rescued throng
The Lord had given me.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bringing Our Sheaves with Us
The time for toil is past, and night has come,--
The last and saddest of the harvest-eves;
Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.
Last of the laborers thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
That I am burdened not so much with grain
As with a heaviness of heart and brain;--
Master, behold my sheaves!
Few, light, and worthless,--yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hapless fate,
And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,--
Yet these are all my sheaves.
Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,--
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently, and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves!"
I know these blossoms, clustering heavily
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value nor utility,--
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.
So do I gather strength and hope anew;
For well I know thy patient love perceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do,--
And though the full, ripe ears be sadly few,
Thou wilt accept my sheaves.
poem by Elizabeth Chase Allen from The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 2
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Let the Light Enter
"The dying words of Goethe."
"Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
And my life is ebbing low,
Throw the windows widely open:
Light! more light! before I go.
"Softly let the balmy sunshine
Play around my dying bed,
E'er the dimly lighted valley
I with lonely feet must tread.
"Light! more light! for Death is weaving
Shadows 'round my waning sight,
And I fain would gaze upon him
Through a stream of earthly light."
Not for greater gifts of genius;
Not for thoughts more grandly bright,
All the dying poet whispers
Is a prayer for light, more light.
Heeds he not the gathered laurels,
Fading slowly from his sight;
All the poet's aspirations
Centre in that prayer for light.
Gracious Saviour, when life's day-dreams
Melt and vanish from the sight,
May our dim and longing vision
Then be blessed with light, more light.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dark the shadows haunt the night
If I began to cry
The tears would never end
If I lowered my guard
Then how could I defend?
From every side the walls close in
And there is no place that you could stand
That would hide you from this world
And all that it demands
Whoever said that life was fair
Has not lived long enough
When the path takes you along the edge
You'll see them fall off the bluff
But the problem is
If your guard is high
You will wither away
And begin to die
How could something so small
Cast such a shadow on the land?
How was it that it stood so tall
Yet it was just a grain of sand?
I made my way through this world
With the Sun forever at my back
And the shadows went before me
And the shadow it was black
One grain of sand in my eye
Tormented me for many years
And I could never hope to fly
For I was blinded by my fears
Then Jesus came and turned me round
To face the rising Sun
His light it shone upon my face
And my journey had begun
When you walk into the Son
The shadows fall behind
The Sun removes the grain of sand
Now you're no longer blind
Who is your grain of sand my child
That made you stumble, made you fall?
In the light of Christ perhaps you'll find
That persons not so very tall
Dark the shadows haunt the night
That cause you to run and hide
Look to the Son that shines so bright
And He will shine that light inside
O to be filled with the light of Christ
And see the shadows disappear
To lift my eyes to heavens heights
And finally to shed a tear
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh, Brother Of Mine IN LOVING MEMORY OF MILFORD BLACKWELL FEB. 18,1932- AUG. 23, 1995
What was his life but a vapor
A grain in the sands of time
A drop of dew in the morning
And a ray of lost sunshine
His love was deep as the ocean
It reached from the earth to the sky
He looked for the wings of an angel
And the land of "Sweet Bye and Bye"
Sometimes his pain was a puzzle
Sometimes his joy a rhyme
But his heart reached out and touched me
That wonderful brother of mine
I know that the cross was heavy
And the pain was hard to bear
But I always watched from the shadows
And you knew that I was there
Life is never a highway
But a mountainous road to climb
I'm glad I had you beside me
Oh. wonderful brother of mine
You were here for only a moment
Now you have slipped away
The stage of life's been traded
For one of earth and clay
I think of the days of childhood
When we played on meadow and Lea
All that is left is an echo
Your voice is calling to me
How many drops of water
Has gone down the river of time
But none will be more precious
Than ours- Oh, brother of mine
The twilight of life came creeping
Across the portals of time
And when the veil was lifted
Gone--that brother of mine
Gone like the mist of the morning
Or flowers at ending of day
The song of the bird has ended
And the music has faded away
If God would grant me the power
To turn back the pages of time
I'd turn them back one by one
"Til I found that brother of mine
Life's little day has ended
Your race on earth is run
So fold your hands my brother
And wait for the morning sun
Farewell, oh wonderful brother of mine
And may these words be read
By those who see the Epitaph
In stone above thy head
Epitaph transition
When life and death at twilight meet
All my days and years are spent
I shall pause beneath the sod
To resurrect -- And ornament
poem by Dana Preston Blackwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
He Is Safe
'And it shall come to pass at eventide
There shall be light.' Lord, it hath come to pass.
As one day to the world so now to me
Thine advent. My dark eve is white as noon;
My year so sour and green is gold and red;
Mine eyes have seen Thy Goodness. All is done.
All things bespeak an end. I am come near
The crown o' this steep earth. My feet still stand
Cold in the western shadow, but my brow
Lives in the living light. The toil is o'er,
Surely 'He giveth His beloved Rest.'
I feel two worlds: one ends and one begins.
Methinks I dwell in both; being much here,
But more hereafter: even as when the nurse
Doth give the babe into the mother's arms,
And she who hath not quite resigned, and she
Who hath not all received, support in twain
The single burden; ne'ertheless the babe
Already tastes its mother. Lord, I come.
Thy signs are in me. 'He shall wipe away
All tears:' Thou see'st my tears are wiped away.
'There shall be no more pain:' Lord, it is done,
Here there is no more pain. 'The sun no more
Shall be their light by day:' even so, Lord,
I need no light of sun or moon! My heart
Is as a lamp of jasper, crystal-clear,
Dark when Thy light is out, but lit with Thee
The sun may be a suckling at this breast,
And milk a nobler glory. Lord, I know
Mine hour. This painful world, that was of thorns,
Is roses. Like a fragrance thro' my soul
I breathe a balm of slumber. Let me sleep.
Bring me my easy pillows, Margery.
I am asleep; this oak is soft: all things
Are rest: I sink as into bliss. O Lord,
Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sower
Sitting in a porchway cool,
Fades the ruddy sunlight fast,
Twilight hastens on to rule--
Working hours are wellnigh past
Shadows shoot across the lands;
But one sower lingers still,
Old, in rags, he patient stands,--
Looking on, I feel a thrill.
Black and high his silhouette
Dominates the furrows deep!
Now to sow the task is set,
Soon shall come a time to reap.
Marches he along the plain,
To and fro, and scatters wide
From his hands the precious grain;
Moody, I, to see him stride.
Darkness deepens. Gone the light.
Now his gestures to mine eyes
Are august; and strange--his height
Seems to touch the starry skies.
poem by Victor Hugo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Prayer
Light up my life, my Lord-
turn the darkness to light
light up my heart and sight.
Seemed, sun would rise and be bright
and everywhere there would be light
but all seems in vain
and unbearable is my pain.
Now only shadows meet and I fear
all I see is the face of death near.
Light up my life, my Lord-
like a phoenix, I wish to rise again
and feel the sunbeams and rain
with no fears and sighs
with a new morn in my eyes.
Copyright©2012 Rizvana Parveen
poem by Rizvana Parveen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Three Enemies
THE FLESH
"Sweet, thou art pale."
"More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father's wrath for me."
"Sweet, thou art sad."
"Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The winepress of the wrath of God."
"Sweet, thou art weary."
"Not so Christ:
Whose mighty love of me suffic'd
For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist."
"Sweet, thou art footsore."
"If I bleed,
His feet have bled; yea in my need
His Heart once bled for mine indeed."
THE WORLD
"Sweet, thou art young."
"So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung."
"Look, thou art fair."
"He was more fair
Than men, Who deign'd for me to wear
A visage marr'd beyond compare."
"And thou hast riches."
"Daily bread:
All else is His: Who, living, dead,
For me lack'd where to lay His Head."
"And life is sweet."
"It was not so
To Him, Whose Cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe."
THE DEVIL
"Thou drinkest deep."
"When Christ would sup
He drain'd the dregs from out my cup:
So how should I be lifted up?"
"Thou shalt win Glory."
"In the skies,
Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes
Lest they should look on vanities."
"Thou shalt have Knowledge."
"Helpless dust!
In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust:
Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just."
"And Might."--
"Get thee behind me. Lord,
Who hast redeem'd and not abhorr'd
My soul, oh keep it by Thy Word."
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Watching the Reapers
Tillers of the soil have few idle months;
In the fifth month their toil is double-fold.
A south-wind visits the fields at night:
Suddenly the hill is covered with yellow corn.
Wives and daughters shoulder baskets of rice;
Youths and boys carry the flasks of wine.
Following after they bring a wage of meat
To the strong reapers toiling on the southern hill,
Whose feet are burned by the hot earth they tread,
Whose backs are scorched by flames of the shining sky.
Tired they toil, caring nothing for the heat,
Grudging the shortness of the long summer day.
A poor woman follows at the reapers' side
With an infant child carried close to her breast.
With her right hand she gleans the fallen grain;
On her left arm a broken basket hangs.
And I today ... by virtue of what right
Have I never once tended field or tree?
My government-pay is three hundred tons;
At the year's end I have still grain in hand.
Thinking of this, secretly I grew ashamed;
And all day the thought lingered in my head.
That Part Of A Whole
it is a tiny part
as tiny as a grain of sand
you hardly give it
attention
you keep on saying
what is in this grain of sand
that philosophers
say contain this universe
something so tiny
yet to contain everything
and so you hold the grain of sand
against the light
and revolve it around your fingers
little finger planets
to the sun grain of sand
you cannot believe what you
felt and saw
and so you throw away that grain
of sand to the air
eating it like a big mouthed monsters
you are lost
your world dissolves
like ice
you turn to air
and there you are
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Per Pacem Ad Lucem
I DO not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road;
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load;
I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.
For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead,
Lead me aright—
Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed—
Through Peace to Light.
I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed
Full radiance here;
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread
Without a fear.
I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;
Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand
And follow Thee.
Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night:
Lead me, O Lord,—till perfect Day shall shine,
Through Peace to Light.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn 70
Christ inviting, and the church answering the invitation.
SS 2:14-17.
[Hark! the Redeemer from on high
Sweetly invites his fav'rites nigh;
From caves of darkness and of doubt,
He gently speaks, and calls us out.
"My dove, who hidest in the rock,
Thine heart almost with sorrow broke,
Lift up thy face, forget thy fear,
And let thy voice delight mine ear.
"Thy voice to me sounds ever sweet;
My graces in thy count'nance meet;
Though the vain world thy face despise,
'Tis bright and comely in mine eyes."
Dear Lord, our thankful heart receives
The hope thine invitation gives;
To thee our joyful lips shall raise
The voice of prayer and of praise.]
[I am my Love's, and he is mine;
Our hearts, our hopes, our passions join;
Nor let a motion, nor a word,
Nor thought, arise to grieve my Lord.
My soul to pastures fair he leads,
Amongst the lilies where he feeds
Amongst the saints, whose robes are white,
Washed in his blood, is his delight.
Till the day break, and shadows flee,
Till the sweet dawning light I see,
Thine eyes to me-ward often turn,
Nor let my soul in darkness mourn.
Be like a hart on mountains green,
Leap o'er the hills of fear and sin;
Nor guilt nor unbelief divide
My Love, my Savior, from my side.]
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grain Of Sand
I feel like Im walking on a mine
Im gonna leave it all behind
I feel like Im gaining my soul
While Im losing my mind
And I feel like I understand
And I feel like a grain of sand
Im gonna walk through that door
Im gonna see what its there for
cause all I ever want is your skin or your soul baby
But you couldnt give me either one of those
And I feel like I understand
And I feel like a grain of sand
And I feel like a grain of sand
You use to hold me like a flower
We used to talk for seven hours
I see the bigger picture now
And I feel like I understand
And I feel like a grain of sand
And I feel like a grain of sand
song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Song Of Comfort
"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.
Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:
"Think not with regret on the Springtime's song
And the task ye left while your hands were strong.
The song would have ceased when the Spring was past,
And the task that was joyous be weary at last."
To the winter sky when the nights were long
The tree-tops tossed with a ceaseless song:
"Do ye think with regret on the sunny days
And the path ye left, with its untrod ways?
The sun might sink in a storm cloud's frown
And the path grow rough when the night came down."
In the grey twilight of the autumn eves,
It sighed as it sang through the dying leaves:
"Ye think with regret that the world was bright,
That your path was short and your task was light;
The path, though short, was perhaps the best
And the toil was sweet, that it led to rest."
poem by John McCrae
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fall Of The Leaf
Earnest and sad the solemn tale
That the sighing winds give back,
Scatt’ring the leaves with mournful wail
O’er the forest’s faded track;
Gay summer birds have left us now
For a warmer, brighter clime,
Where no leaden sky or leafless bough
Tell of change and winter-time.
Reapers have gathered golden store
Of maize and ripened grain,
And they’ll seek the lonely fields no more
Till the springtide comes again.
But around the homestead’s blazing hearth
Will they find sweet rest from toil,
And many an hour of harmless mirth
While the snow-storm piles the soil.
Then, why should we grieve for summer skies—
For its shady trees—its flowers,
Or the thousand light and pleasant ties
That endeared the sunny hours?
A few short months of snow and storm,
Of winter’s chilling reign,
And summer, with smiles and glances warm,
Will gladden our earth again.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!