THE HARVEST GARNERED

J. C. Evershed

Our hearts rejoice afresh, O Lord, to sense

The present ardour of Thy love that leaps

Upon the hills, itself to recompense;

As one who from His own love’s sowing reaps.

 

Thy love is constant, too, and it has shown

That nothing could its suff’ring course impede—

Nay! rather did it choose to go alone

To death itself—for thus was sown the seed.

 

The precious grain must fall into the ground

And die, unless it should alone abide.

Now from Thy sowing is a harvest found,

Much fruit—the Son of man thus glorified.

 

With joy will all the sheaves be gathered now

In resurrection’s field where, as is due,

To Thee the First of first-fruits all do bow—

Yet they through heavenly purpose first-fruits too!

 

Then harvest must be to the garner brought;

Thy garner, region of ascended life—

Th’assembly by the Spirit’s power inwrought,

Thy bride, Thy body, and Thy cherished wife.

London.