1 It may not be our lot to wield
The sickle in the ripened field;
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves,
The reaper's song among the sheaves.
2 Yet where our duty's task is wrought
In unison with God's great thought,
The near and future blend in one,
And whatsoe'er is willed, is done.
3 And ours the grateful service whence
Comes, day by day, the recompense;
The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed,
The fountain, and the noonday shade.
4 And were this life the utmost span,
The only end and aim of man,
Better the toil of fields like these
Than waking dream and slothful ease.
5 But life, though falling like our grain,
Like that revives and springs again;
And, early called, how blest are they
Who wait in heaven their harvest day!
AMEN.
Source: The A.M.E. Zion Hymnal: official hymnal of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church #437
First Line: | It may not be our lot to wield |
Title: | It May Not Be Our Lot to Wield |
Author: | John Greenleaf Whittier |
Meter: | 8.8.8.8 |
Language: | English |
Copyright: | Public Domain |