Ye sons of earth prepare the plow


 * 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 withered, scorched, and dead.


 * The thorny ground is sure to baulk
 * 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 blessed 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.