It Was Spoken for the Master

It was spok­en for the Mas­ter

O how lov­ing­ly it fell;

It was ut­tered in a whis­per

Who had breathed it none could tell.

It was spok­en for the Mas­ter

Only just a lit­tle word

But the chords that long had slum­bered

In a grief-worn heart were stirred.

Gentle words of pa­tient kind­ness

Tho’ un­heed­ed oft they seem

To the fold of grace may ga­ther

Souls of which we lit­tle dream.

O we know not when we scat­ter

Where the pre­cious seed will fall

But we work and trust in Je­sus

For He watch­eth over all.

We may sow be­side the wa­ters

Of af­flict­ion it may be

But the fruits of ear­nest la­bor

At the reap­ing we shall see.

When our bu­sy toil is ov­er

From the vine­yard when we go

We shall find a store of bless­ings

That on earth we could not know.

We shall won­der at the bright­ness

Of the crowns we then shall wear

But the Lord Him­self will tell us

Why He placed the jew­els there.