The weeping Seed-Time, and joyful Harvest. Psalm cxxvi. 5, 6

The dark'ned Sky! how thick it lowrs! Troubled with Storms, and big with Show'rs; No chearful Gleam of Light appears, But Nature pours forth all her Tears.

Yet let the Sons of Grace revive; GOD bids the Soul, that seeks him, live, And from the gloomiest Shade of Night Calls forth a Morning of Delight.

The Seeds of Extacy unknown Are in these water'd Furrows sown; See the green Blades how thick they rise, And with fresh Verdure bless our Eyes.

In secret Foldings they contain Unnumber'd Ears of golden Grain; And Heav'n shall pour its Beams around, Till the ripe Harvest load the Ground.

Then shall the trembling Mourner come, And find his Sheaves, and bear them home: The Voice long broke with Sighs shall sing, Till Heav'n with Hallelujahs ring.