THE CORN CROP
When clouds swept low the sky at morn,
We planted seed of golden corn,
Stoop low, stoop low.
Upon the newly planted earth
Fell rain to bring the seed to birth,
That maketh corn to grow.
We watched the corn grow tall and green,
We hoed the stubborn weed between,
Stoop low, stoop low.
Some work beyond our human power,
By sun and rain brought forth the flower,
That maketh corn to grow.
The grain grew fat upon the stalk,
The farmers talked the harvest talk,
Stoop low, stoop low.
Now praise to God who by his might
Hath made the harvest golden bright,
Who maketh corn to grow.
Philip Britts, 1948
Greg G. wrote:
> DISTRUST
>
> He saw the clouds creep up in stormy herds,
> He saw clouds hiding the eternal tors
> And clouds like a flock of wild white birds
> Winging across the sky towards the moors.
>
> Walking alone he saw the high clouds reeling
> In the changing skies,
> But his eyes were afraid and seeking,
> The voice in his heart was speaking,
> And he felt that the clouds were a ceiling
> Darkly forbidding his petulant spirit to rise.
>
> Solitude mocked silently.
> Sickened, he asked, "Oh, has she faith in me--
> The faith that makes men heroes?"
> Long after the echo, came a faint reply:
> "Find in yourself a faith as true,
> Faith is made, not of talk, but deeds,
> Lest she go loving on, but you--
> Go back to a harvest of weeds."
>
> Philip Britts, 1936
>
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