A hundred fold of grains of gold

To feed the waiting children

by Edward Everett Hale

Is there some desert or some pathless sea
Where thou, good God of angels, wilt send me?
So oak for me to rend; some sod,
Some rock for me to break;
Some handful of His corn to take
And scatter far afield,
Till it, in turn, shall yield
Its hundred fold
Of grains of gold
To feed the waiting children of my God.
Show me the desert, Father, or the sea.
Is this Thine enterprise? Great God, send me.