Poem September 12, 1988 Issue

The harvest

Susan Dane Gilboy

The locusts came and stripped the crops that year.
They ravaged every hope of winter's grain.
Through autumn's chilling morns the cold crept near;
No human hand could plant and reap again.
When hope has lost all reason, Christ appears—
To wipe the tear, to lift us out of pain.
God's love restores the hope and heals the fear;
In heaven's cycle, human loss is gain.
Vision now sees Life where sense sees death;
And bridal feast appears where all seems lost.
Not from our efforts but through grace we're fed,
And yet no meal is won without a cost:
That we must drink the cup to taste the wine;
Must lift the cross to see Life as divine.

Susan Dane Gilboy

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