He that goeth forth with weeping,

Bearing precious seed in love,

Never tiring, never sleeping,

Findeth mercy from above.

2 Soft descend the dews of heaven;

Bright the rays celestial shine;

Precious fruits will thus be given,

Through the influence all divine.

3 Sow thy seed; be never weary;

Let no fears thy soul annoy;

Be the prospect ne’er so dreary,

Thou shalt reap the fruits of joy.

4 Lo! the scene of verdure brightening,

In the rising grain appear;

Look again; the fields are whitening,

For the harvest time is near.