Nesting Fledglings squabble in the window box next crushed rose wafting scent from rain dropped petal.
The lawn is lush green and black bird bobs furtively across the wide patch.
Dappled sun and shadow from shady beech and dug earth deep trodden rich and sweet.
Lamb and dew eyed ewe chew seemingly distracted but ever alert while martins swoop. Beneath the thatch.
The old crow knows and tells. Three times and is gone.
Ever to be remembered is that best and brightest of hours, when first we saw the Lord, lost our burden, received the roll of promise, rejoiced in full salvation, and went on our way in peace. It was spring time in the soul; the winter was past; the mutterings of Sinai's thunders were hushed; the flashings of its lightnings were no more perceived; God was beheld as reconciled; the law threatened no vengeance, justice demanded no punishment. Then the flowers appeared in our heart; hope, love, peace, and patience sprung from the sod; the hyacinth of repentance, the snowdrop of pure holiness, the crocus of golden faith, the daffodil of early love, all decked the garden of the soul. The time of the singing of birds was come, and we rejoiced with thanksgiving; we magnified the holy name of our forgiving God, and our resolve was, "Lord, I am thine, wholly thine; all I am, and all I have, I would devote to thee. Thou hast bought me with thy blood--let me spend myself and be spent in thy service. In life and in death let me be consecrated to thee." How have we kept this resolve? Our espousal love burned with a holy flame of devoutedness to Jesus--is it the same now? Might not Jesus well say to us, "I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love"? Alas! it is but little we have done for our Master's glory. Our winter has lasted all too long. We are as cold as ice when we should feel a summer's glow and bloom with sacred flowers. We give to God pence when he deserveth pounds, nay, deserveth our heart's blood to be coined in the service of his church and of his truth. But shall we continue thus? O Lord, after thou hast so richly blessed us, shall we be ungrateful and become indifferent to thy good cause and work? O quicken us that we may return to our first love, and do our first works! Send us a genial spring, O Sun of Righteousness.
CH SPURGEON
I never thought to look for you,
In the heat of the moment.
It was all about survival, you see.
Getting by.
In all the press and clamour,
No one looked to you,
The quiet one.
Your thoughts shouted louder than our words,
As you sat in the corner.
But no one took heed to your call above the din
I wonder how we would have fared,
Differently if we had cared.
What insight gained,
If we had strained,
And studied between the lines
And the look behind your eyes.
Joe Morriss
26.6.2015
