Such as men give and take from day to day.
Comes in the common walk of easy life.
Blown by the careless wind across our way.
Great truths are dearly won; not found by chance,
Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream;
But grasped in the great struggle of the soul.
Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.
Sometimes, ‘mid conflict, turmoil, fear and grief,
When the strong hand of God, put forth in might,
Ploughs up the subsoil of the stagnant heart,
It brings some buried truth-seeds to the light.
Not in the general mart, ‘mid corn and wine;
Not in the merchandise of gold and gems;
Not in the world’s gay hall of midnight mirth,
Nor ‘mid the blaze of regal diadems;
Not in the general clash of human creeds,
Nor in the merchandise ‘twixt church and world,
Is truth’s fair treasure found, ‘mongst tares and weeds;
Nor her fair banner in their midst unfurled.
Truth springs like harvest from the well-ploughed fields.
Rewarding patient toil, and faith, and zeal.
To those thus seeking her, she ever yields
Her richest treasures for their lasting weal. —Horatius Bonar