Re: The poetry of Philip Britts

FINGERPRINTS OF GOD
 
"Whenever I meet a man," he said,
"I look him low, I look him high,
To see if a certain gleam is born,
An inner light, deep in the eye,
The light of eyes that see in growing corn
Not only grain, not only golden bread,
But sweet and plain, the fingerprints of God.
What for a man is it, who cares
Only for harvest and the threshing feast,
Sees the reward before the growth of Love,
Who looks impatient at the slim green spears
That tremble under grey October skies,
And scorns all but the ripened head.
God is not seen only at harvest time,
But He is here, in winter-sleeping sod,
And half His glory stands about our feet
In the low lines of green young growing wheat."
 
Philip Britts, 1940