Sheaves of Grain

Genesis.37:7

Murmurs

Why wilt thou make bright music

Give forth a sound of pain?
Why wilt thou weave fair flowers
Into a weary chain?

Why turn each cool grey shadow

Into a world of fears?
Why say the winds are wailing?
Why call the dew-drops tears?

Listen, and I will tell thee

The song Creation sings,
From the humming of bees in the heather
To the flutter of angels’ wings.
 An echo rings for ever,
The sound can never cease;
It speaks to God of glory,
It speaks to earth of peace.

No creature of God is too lowly

To murmur peace and praise:
When the starry nights grow silent,
Then speak the sunny days.

So, leave thy sick heart’s fancies,

And lend thy little voice
To the silver song of glory
That bids the world rejoice.

Author
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