Until The Day Break.

When will the day bring its pleasure?     When will the night bring its rest?     Reaper and gleaner and thresher     Peer toward the east and the west: -     The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.     Meteors flash forth and expire,     Northern lights kindle and pale;     These are the days of desire,     Of eyes looking upward that fail;     Vanishing days as a finishing tale.     Bows down the crop in its glory     Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold;     The millet is ripened and hoary,     The wheat ears are ripened to gold: -     Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?     The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth     Who knoweth the first and the last:     The Sower Who patiently soweth,     He scanneth the present and past:     He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."     Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers     The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown:     On threshers and gleaners and reapers,     O Lord of the harvest, look down;     Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!     "Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers,     The Lord of the first and the last:     "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers,     What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast.     Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."