The Sower.

This is the strife, and eke the affraie,
And the batill, that lasteth aie.”
Though his heart may dare to glory,1
Conscious of a God innate2
Yet to read his future story,3
To foresee his future fate,4
To fore-sing his future singing,5
Never doth the Poet heed :6
Every day to him is bringing7
All of which the day hath need.8
Faithful is his hand and fearless :9
Wholesome seed, he knoweth well,10
May be sown in weather cheerless,11
But will spring up where it fell.12
Seed was given to his keeping,13
And from Heaven it was sent ;14
He has sown it. Is it sleeping15
In the soil ?— he is content.16