Occasional Impressions

The Harvest of the Muse

The Harvest

Like a thief in the night comes the day all faithless dread:
hear God’s call to account, ye living and ye dead!
Wake from sleep, look around: is all as it should be?
See the fields, they are white, a swaying silver sea.

Time is done, all is past - now comes the reckoning;
closed the years, past the deeds - too late for cautioning -
now too late to regret what might have been undone -
can’t turn back; daren’t look out - the reaper hurries on.

Feel the blade, it is sharp honed and eager to be swung.
Let it fly, hear the cry, hear the mourning song now sung.
Where is pride? Life denied - the arrogant are gone.
Where is fear? Fear is here - the wage is paid for wrong.

Who can stand in the field when all ill is revealed?
Who can claim they should live when the fate of sin is sealed?
Who can raise a defence that their conscience is robust?
Who can hope - when the Judge of all the earth is just?

And yet Christ can redeem who in trust their faith confess;
God’s full grace can replace just demands for sin’s redress.
Winnowed grain from the floor of hopelessness restored
is gathered in for the harvest of the Kingdom of the Lord.
Ian Gracey

return to Harvest of the Muse contents.