by John Newton, Though in the outward church below
“ We seem alike when thus we meet, Strangers might think we all are wheat; But to the Lord's all-searching eyes, Each heart appears without disguise. The tares are spared for various ends, Some, for the sake of praying friends; Others, the LORD, against their will, Employs his counsels to fulfill. But though they grow so tall and strong, His plan will not require them long; In harvest, when he saves his own, The tares shall into hell be thrown. O! awful thought, and is it so? Must all mankind the harvest know? Is every man a wheat or tare? ”
