In the Vineyard

Long

O Mas­ter

in Thy vine­yard

Thro’ the dust and heat of day

I have toiled

and with my bur­den

Come I now thro’ sha­dows gray.

Toiling in Thy vine­yard

All day long with wea­ry feet

Glad to rest when ev­en­ing com­eth

And the hours are cool and sweet.

Tangled vines and fad­ed flow­ers

Hidden lie among my sheaves

Look’st Thou sor­row­ful

O Mas­ter?

Is there no­thing there but leaves?

Purge

Thou

then

the sheaves so worth­less

That I lay at Thy dear feet

So they yield Thee at the har­vest

Only fin­est of the wheat.