The people hurry to and fro,
A job to do,
A place to go.
No time to stop, to stand, to stare,
No time to think that You are there.
The bus stop gives a place to sit,
Rest quietly,
Reflect a bit.
A fellow traveller wants to talk,
Take me along her lonely walk.
A child-adult, perhaps it seems,
Adult body,
Childish dreams.
Is listening to her talk a chore?
A privilege I count it more.
A bearded man o’hears in part,
Risks a smile,
Bares his heart.
I hear of drugs and actions wild,
I look and see God’s precious child.
How many people need an ear,
No advice,
Just word of cheer.
How many people need to know
There is a Lord who loves them so.
The crops wave ripened in the field,
Few the workers,
Heavy the yield,
And harvest time is closing in,
‘Ere crops are ruined by blight of sin.
I need to learn to wield Your name,
Plant the seed,
Scythe the grain,
I show the love I feel through You,
I need to tell them, You love them too.
© 10/8/96