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Ashlar Home > Poems > Rob Morris > Sowing of the Seed

Sowing of the Seed

By Rob Morris

He that hath ears to hear,
May listen now,
While he shall hear, in mystic words indeed,
Of a good husbandman who took his seed
And went to sow.

Some by the wayside fell,
On breezes borne
The fowls of air flew down, a greedy train,
And snatched with hasty appetite the grain,
Till all was gone.

Some fell upon the rock
And greenly soon
They sprouted as for harvest, strong and fair
But when the summer sun shone hotly there,
They wilted down.

Some fell among the thorns,
A fertile soil,
But ere the grain could raise its timid head,
Luxuriantly the accursed plants o'erspread,
And choked them all.

But some in the good ground,
God's precious mould,
Where sun, breeze, dew and showers apportioned well
And in the harvest, smiling swains could tell
Their Hundred Fold!

Commentary

We are exhorted, in that Volume about which an Oblong Square is formed in the Masonic Lodge, to sow beside all waters. In a Lodge of Freemasons, no more than in any other society, is there perfect sameness in sentiment and choice. While similarity in physical, mental and moral qualifications is needful in the construction of our social edifice, there are diversities of character sufficiently marked among us to justify the poet in offering the above paraphrase of Luke viii, 5-8.
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