with it a reaper cannot fill his hand, nor can a binder of sheaves fill his lap.
Whoever keeps going out weeping, carrying his bag of seed, will surely come back with a song of joy, carrying his sheaves.
“For they sow wind, and reap a whirlwind. There is no mature grain— the sprout yields no meal. Should it produce anything, strangers would swallow it up.
For the one who sows in the flesh will reap corruption from the flesh. But the one who sows in the Ruach will reap from the Ruach eternal life.