William Cowper

“ Ye sons of earth prepare the plow, Break up your fallow ground! The Sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round.
The seed that finds a stony soil, Shoots forth a hasty blade; But ill repays the sower's toil, Soon withered, scorched, and dead.
The thorny ground is sure to baulk All hopes of harvest there; We find a tall and sickly stalk, But not the fruitful ear. ”