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John Sparks

A Harvest Note

Those harvest days of lowered sun
Have filled my eyes with bloom,
Bright red and orange in yellow haze
That filters through this room.
Rich golden boughs outside a pane
Sway gently ‘gainst the blue,
Nudging my thoughts to thankful be
For sustenance by You.
O God, my Strength and holy Fount,
With grateful verse I sing
My praises sweet for Your great care
And daily bread You bring.
These lips for such abundance praise;
My hands fold twain in awe
As bended knee hugs fertile ground—
Prayers sowed for bounty all.
And though I wane with rising age,
Make gladsome measures still
For those, Your gifts, from fickle earth
That come and give us fill.