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Under the Harvest SunAs the Harvest sun starts to set My work remains unfinished yet. Spirit is willing… flesh is weak, Color fading from my cheek. Many thoughts enter my mind As this day now passes behind. My heart sinks in sorrow For the moments that passed by… Moments spent in spilling tears Tears from a burdened cry. Why this distraction now …why? Ashamed of my foolish crime- In wasting God's precious time. While the Harvest sun is over us, There is plenty to do for Lord Jesus. Beautiful outstretched beams, Shine upon His golden fields Where grasses gently reach and sway. “Father, guide the field laborers Who tend to the growing grain... And when the Harvest Sun must set May the Windows of Heaven send To us… your purifying rain.” Matthew 9: 37 Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few; 38 Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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