When pain has plowed the soil And doubt is seeded deep Then all of life is toil Before eternal sleep. The fruit of doubt is hatred Of all that can be seen Especially all related To head, heart, and between. And oft’ the wicked farmer Who sows the seeds of doubt Is found to be no other Than he from whom they sprout. ‘Tis true that other plowmen Can furrow deep the rows That helps bring forth more doubt when It seems that God doth doze. Then in such times of silence When weeds grow strong and fast, My life hangs in the balance ‘Tween vine and weedy mast. But if the Lord had weeded This heart and soul of mine, Then doubt might not have seeded And light of his would shine. Shining out from ev’ry fruit And from the plants so strong, This self of mine would then root In love’s eternal song. And these eyes would not grow dim Before the wicked man Saw my confidence in him, The ever-spotless Lamb. The Lamb who never left me In ever-darkened times, Even when I could not see That he had left some signs. Oft’ the signs of love tall stand When eye looks to the past Seeing ever-loving hand That always held me fast.
This poem is taken from my book A New Song, (Westbow Press, 2016) and can be found online HERE.
