As we go about the toils of life,
As we witness each day, it's burdens and strife,
Thinking not of days of the future or past,
Knowing not where in life our lots may be cast,—
'Tis then in life's broad and fertile field,
In tho'tlessness to fate we yield;
Not deeming it wise our tho'ts to cast
On any works or deeds of the past.
Still tho'tlessly we struggle along
Amid Life's great and fearless throng;
Thro' darkened caves, o'er rugged steeps,
Thinking not that as we sow we reap.
But later on, when years have flown,
And of life's cares we've weary grown,
'Mid silence, tho'ts in our minds do creep,
That as we've sown, we now do reap.
We think of our heavy burdens and cares,
It seems to us more than we can bear;
It pains our heart, we utter a groan,
Yet, we're reaping what we have sown.
Oh, if we only could blot out the past,
And e'en it's memory in some sea cast,
Oh, could we but live this life again,
Such burdens would not on our minds remain.
But now our eyes are dim with age,
We near the last line of life's page,
We'll seal it's contents with a groan,—
Reaping—reaping what we have sown.
Before your eyes grow dim with age,
You, who are on Life's busy stage,
Each day you labor, do mindful keep,
That as you sow you will surely reap.