Benjamin Keach (1640-1704) | English | Published: October, 1909
When days are o'erburdened with trouble,
And life is o'erburdened with woe,
When pain and unkindness seem double,
Tis because we deserve it, you know.
Way back in the past we have planted
Unkindness and hatred to grow,
We gather the seed that we sow without heed,
For always we reap as we sow.
When life seems o'erburdened with sadness,
And Hope on bright pinions has fled,
And all the sweet roses of gladness
Lie withered, forgotten, and dead,
Blame none but yourself for the shadows,
Blame none but yourself for the woe,
For sometime, somewhere, you have planted the tare,
And always we reap as we sow.
When every day holds a full measure
Of joy and of peace and content,
'Tis because we are reaping some treasure
That back in the past we have sent
On its mission of love and of kindness,
To find a heart, where it may grow;
The rule is quite just, and believe it we must,
For always we reap as we sow.
0, which would you gather to-morrow,—
The seed of contentment or woe?
The seed of forgiveness or sorrow —
The seed that will kindle love's glow?
The spirit of right and of justice
Will follow wherever we go,
And cruel or kind, we shall certainly find
That always we reap as we sow.