Provider of Seed I pray thee,
Let none of the seed, perish in store,
Let them die in the field,
Where each brinks hundredfold.
So many of thy seeds in my granaries,
So much of grace have I found,
Plenty is the land for tilling,
Sower are yet to be found.
Sometimes I wonder what I will answer,
When He comes to seek for fruits
Shall I show Him the granaries
When He asks me for fruits
None is worthy who looks back,
After putting his feet on the plough,
Let me till the land for Him,
He is my all in all.