Brother That Ploughs The Furrow I Late Ploughed, God Give Thee Grace, And Fruitful Harvesting, Tis Fair Sweet Earth, Be It Under Sun Or Cloud, And All About It Ever The Birds Sing. Yet Do I Pray Your Seed Fares Not As Mine That Sowed There Stars Along With Good White Grain, But Reaped Thereof - Be Better Fortune Thine - Nettles And Bitter Herbs, For All My Gain. Inclement Seasons And Black Winds, Perchance, Poisoned And Soured The Fragrant Fecund Soil, Till I Sowed Poppies 'Gainst Remembrance, And Took To Other Furrows My Laughing Toil. And Other Men As I That Ploughed Before Shall Watch Thy Harvest, Trusting Thou Mayst Reap Where We Have Sown, And On Your Threshing Floor Have Honest Grain Within Thy Barns To Keep.