Songs‎ > ‎1 - 99‎ > ‎

79 Heck

Ye sons of earth prepare the plow, 
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 pow'r 
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 gives the seed 
Provide a fruitful place.

Listen Download

YouTube 1, 2, 3, 4