The Song of the Sower

Author: William Cullen Bryant  | Date: 1858


Brethren, the sower’s task is done.

The seed is in its winter bed.

Now let the dark-brown mould be spread,

To hide it from the sun,

And leave it to the kindly care

Of the still earth and brooding air,

As when the mother, from her breast,

Lays the hushed babe apart to rest,

And shades its eyes, and waits to see

How sweet its waking smile will be.

The tempest now may smite, the sleet

All night on the drowned furrow beat,

And winds that, from the cloudy hold,

Of winter breathe the bitter cold,

Stiffen to stone the mellow mould,

Yet safe shall lie the wheat;

Till, out of heaven’s unmeasured blue,

Shall walk again the genial year,

To wake with warmth and nurse with dew

The germs we lay to slumber here.


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Chicago: William Cullen Bryant, "IX," The Song of the Sower Original Sources, accessed July 24, 2024,

MLA: Bryant, William Cullen. "IX." The Song of the Sower, Original Sources. 24 Jul. 2024.

Harvard: Bryant, WC, 'IX' in The Song of the Sower. Original Sources, retrieved 24 July 2024, from