Poetry

          Nature and the Redeemed

Lord, when I'm alone, lost in the beauty

Of Thy lovely creation, the wind meekly

Caressing my cheeks, the sun retracting

Its enervating beam, nature serenely interacting

With nature, I become lost in contemplation

Of Thee and me, how this came to be through Thy Son.

The wind blowing so mysteriously on the

Treetops, tossing the leaves to and fro, serve

As the catalyst to calm my frantic spirit and heal

My agitated nerves, leading me to Thee by an appeal.

The song of the birds sung so harmoniously

Warms my heart. But my song is more sweetly.

How lovely is Thy Son! The sun heals and hurts,

It soothes and scorches. Thy Son only blesses

And blankets. My song is to the Son, the

Bird's to the sun. The coldness of winter silence

Their harmony, but in the winter of life I will sing

To my Redeemer and Lord, the Dispatcher of my spring.

How sad! The birds chirp in thankfulness;

Fervently the wind flies out of the storehouse of Thy fulness;

The trees and their leaves dance to the music

Of the wind in gratitude to Thee, yet it's all so basic.

The birds die and are silenced; the trees rot and decay; the wind blows

And then ceases. I'm eternally secure in Thine Everlasting Hands.