I gaze up to the blistered sky
And pray for clouds to come,
Fair clouds to sit a Rider white
Who’ll take His pilgrims home.

A thirsty land now heavy lies
Much withered in sin’s heat
Too late for waters to refresh?
Too dead to raise new wheat?

"Never despair for sure is hope",
The world repeats this phrase;
"As long as life remakes itself,
Improved shall be earth’s days."

Depleted words no solace brings,
Just prove the boughs and weep!
Apart from God His well within
No strength man’s tree can keep.

And so it goes, rot twisting down,
First leaves then trunk and roots.
Come fifty years, all vim is gone;
Now seared are buds and shoots.

I watch the sky with eager heart
For soon shall come our King!
For Christ alone shall all renew
His Throne, our healing spring!

| Return to Poetry Index |
| Seniors-Site Homepage | E-Mail | Site Master |