~  The Harvest ~

You're planting seeds of joy
For every tear you weep.
Sown in sorrow now,
In time, they will be reaped.

In sacredness they're planted,
Deeply dug in pain,
Now tended by the angels
In fields of rough terrain.

Through gentle rains of faith,
And light from earnest prayer,
Tender sprouts are growing
Though you are unaware.

They're nurtured by a promise,
In ways you can't conceive,
And raised up by a Power
That comes when you believe.

Just when you fear hope's gone,
You border on the verge,
Miracles will come,
And shoots of joy emerge.

Though you're weeping tears of pain
And can't conceive a reason,
Never doubt beloved,
There comes a Harvest season!


Sharon Frye
© 2003 used with permission
Heroes of the Heart