The farmer planted a seed 

A little, dry, black seed; 

And off he went to other work 

For the farmer was never known to shirk; 

And cared for what he had need.

The night came with its dew 

The cool and silent dew;

The dawn came, and the day,

And the farmer worked away 

At labors not a few.

Home from his work one day 

One glowing summer day 

His children showed him a perfect flower;

It had burst in bloom that very hour; 

How, I cannot say.

But I know if the smallest seed 

In the soil of love be cast,

Both day and night will do their part;

And the sower who works with a trusting heart 

Will find the flower at last.