Though the rain will not come again
To a dry land, though the hand
Lose strength as youth fades,
Though the leafless tree 
Does not shield from sun’s brutality,
Though the grass grow long and sere,
The flower fall, fruit wither on the branch,
If springtime fail its promise,
Summer sink in untimely frost,
Birds flee the steel gray clouds
Shrouding frozen mountains.
Even if the garden returns to thistle
The orchard goes black with neglect
Moth and blight infect the harvest
The golden treasure all be lost, the story
End half told, rust dim the shining blade,
Still I will rejoice, His name I will bless,
Stand high with the stags on the mountain
In the light of this new dawn, 
I will shout praise, give thanks, yield adoration
Day triumphant over night’s vast abyss,
And with a new song forever sing His glory. 

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae