L. M. Doddridge. Weeping Seedtime; Joyful Harvest.
1 The darkened sky, how thick it lowers!
Troubled with storms, and big with showers,
No cheerful gleam of light appears,
But nature pours forth all her tears.

2 Yet let the sons of God revive;
He bids the soul that seeks Him live,
And from the gloomiest shade of night
Calls forth a morning of delight.

3 The seeds of ecstasy unknown
Are in these watered furrows sown;
See the green blades, how thick they rise,
And with fresh verdure bless our eyes!

4 In secret foldings they contain
Unnumbered ears of golden grain;
And heaven shall pour its beams around,
Till the ripe harvest load the ground.

5 Then shall the trembling mourner come,
And bind his sheaves, and bear them home,
The voice long broke with sighs shall sing,
Till heaven with hallelujahs ring.

327 l m norton my
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