Beyond the furrowed field plowed,
Men of honor thankful bowed,
Worked the land to sustain them,
Looked above to maintain them,
Built their churches spires pointing,
To their God of men anointing,
Providing all of those in need,
Despising evil, sin and greed,
Redeemed, therefore the land of curse,
Creating anew this lush Earth.
But, mused the forlorn, furrowed brow,
Of days gone by and asked Him how,
Could we have lost this garden gift,
Should we exchange all of this,
For ease and glory without honor,
Worked we not, nor any longer,
As greed seeped in and evil born,
The seed of men, their children formed,
No more towers to the heavens,
Nor plowed the fields for our Fathers.
Jim Hime ©2013
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