The eternal Sower (Christ) walks beneath a radiant sky, scattering the living Word of God like blazing seed across the hearts of humanity.

• On the hardened path of pride and indifference, the Word is snatched away before it can take root.
• On shallow, stony hearts, it springs up with quick joy but withers under trial.
• Among thorns of worry, greed, and worldly desire, the Word is slowly choked and bears no fruit.
• Yet in hearts broken by sorrow, softened by grace, and watered by repentance (the “good soil”), the same Word sinks deep, explodes into life, and produces an overwhelming harvest: thirty, sixty, a hundredfold.

The poem ends with a majestic, hope-drenched call: the Sower never stops walking, His hand is never empty, and His Word can never die. Therefore, fling wide the gates of your heart, tear out every thorn, cast away every stone; the Kingdom is breaking like sunrise, the fields are white, and the final harvest will be glorious beyond all imagining.

He who has ears—hear! The Sower is coming.

So lift your eyes, O weary child of dust!
The Sower still walks beneath the opening sky;
His hand is never empty, His heart never still,
and the Word He sows can never, never die.

Fling wide the gates, break up the fallow ground,
let every stone be cast, let every thorn be burned;
the Kingdom comes like sunrise on the hills,
and the harvest of the Lord has no return.

He who has ears, let him hear the trumpet call:
the fields are white, the reapers are too few;
but the Word is mighty, the Sower is the King,
and the final harvest shall be glorious through and through.