The seed growing secretly—The Disciple

(The Saviour of the World, Vol III Book II Poem XIX)

Informing the void silence, dropping Seed,

I heard and did rejoice!

How apt thy word for my exhausted need,

Engendering Voice!

My hungry famished soul puts eager forth

Blind feelers for the Seed;

Sure, I would cherish till it yield due birth

Grain that shall feed!

And day and night I wistful come to see

A seedling that shows green;

Alas, no sign of things that virtuous be

Is here, I ween.

Nay, worse; ill weeds do grow; good fruit is not;

Or is not to be found:

Sure, seed of subtlest virtue can but rot,

Lost in the ground!

Then I bethought me how in former days

Like droppings had I heard;

And how I vainly watched for fruit of praise

To prove the Word.

And is this sound, grateful as brave June rain

To trees whose hands hang down,

But echo of desire? In sorry pain,

I wept forlorn.

“Have faith,” saith One; “thou heard’st the sowing; wait,

Till ripen’d in the ear,

Corn stand for cutting: take thy sickle straight,

Reap, then, nor fear!

“The harvest shall be thine, and thou shalt see:

The growing of the Seed

Is hid; a secret thou shalt leave with Me,

And wait My speed!”