ERE thou thy hands upon the plough dost lay,
First lift them up, and to thy Maker pray,
Thou and thy hinds - that he thy work may bless,
And crown thy labours with the wish'd success.

In vain it is, a large domain to plow,
In vain it is, to harrow what you sow,
If God with-hold his blessing from the grain,
The seed will rot beneath the furrow'd plain.

'Tis God that sows - 'tis God that makes the field
Its full increase in time of harvest yield:
An hundred fold, or more, is sometimes given
To those, who place their confidence in heaven.

Whoe'er wou'd from the earth its strength obtain,
And reap large crops of valuable grain,
Let him with fervent pray'r his God address,
And he shall meet with the desir'd success.

A single harrow, by the help of pray'r,
A greater produce shall return by far
Than can be got by teams, perhaps a score,
Where none by pray'r invoke th' Almighty's Pow'r.

Isaac, by pray'rs efficacious aid,
Was, in his corn, an hundred fold repay'd;
Whilst others, who neglected pray'r, scarce found
Bare six-for-one from their best-cultur'd ground.

The Lord, thy God, O husbandman! adore -
With all thy heart his needful help implore,
That he the labours of thy hands may bless,
And, to thy full content, thy store increase.