Looking backward across the fields
As the sun drops in the west,
The farmer, tired but happy,
Turns toward home and needed rest.
First the faithful horses
Must be groomed with proper care,
Given refreshing drink and best of food.
For man, they did their share.
Tilling the ground and planting the seed,
Working from dawn until dark;
The creaking harness, the strain upon chain
To the song of the meadowlark,
The only sound that reaches man's ear
As he plods through the heat of the day;
He feels the touch of the hand of God
As he reverently bows to pray.
The life-giving seed, the fields well tilled,
He awaits and welcomes the showers;
He witnesses the miracle of creation,
In the warmth of the summer hours.
He sees fields of golden grain
Moving at the slightest breeze,
Reflecting the rays of the noonday sun,
Turning the whole into enchanted seas.
Contentedly he rests until the harvest moon
Calls him once again to the fields;
It is then he reaps a just reward
As he harvests what the good earth yields.
God expects us to do our part;
We cannot reap without toil,
But doing our share as a man should do...
Great gifts come from out the soil.
...R. H. Sotherland |
