Though in the outward church below

The wheat and tares by John Newton, Tune by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart


 * Though in the outward church below
 * The wheat and tares together grow;
 * Jesus ere long will weed the crop,
 * And pluck the tares, in anger, up.


 * Will it relieve their horrors there,
 * To recollect their stations here?
 * How much they heard, how much they knew,
 * How long amongst the wheat they grew!


 * O! this will aggravate their case!
 * They perished under means of grace;
 * To them the word of life and faith,
 * Became an instrument of death.


 * We seem alike when thus we meet,
 * Strangers might think we all are wheat;
 * But to the Lord's all-searching eyes,
 * Each heart appears without disguise.


 * The tares are spared for various ends,
 * Some, for the sake of praying friends;
 * Others, the LORD, against their will,
 * Employs his counsels to fulfill.


 * But though they grow so tall and strong,
 * His plan will not require them long;
 * In harvest, when he saves his own,
 * The tares shall into hell be thrown.


 * O! awful thought, and is it so?
 * Must all mankind the harvest know?
 * Is every man a wheat or tare?
 * Me for the harvest, Lord prepare.