Until The Day Break Christina Rossetti

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!