Cry For The Harvest

Lord of the Harvest, Lord of Lords

Sharpen the sickle

In the hands of your angels

In the hearts of workers in the field

For truly the fields are ripe

I want to shine

You have said it

Tares and wheat would be gathered

One burned, one winnowed

You promised it then

Yet that word I seek

The fruition of your utterance

That in that day: revelation

Then we, your sons would shine

In your kingdom, in your glory

Bright as the stars in the heavens

Winning, overcoming

Receiving the Morning Star

Brothers to the Lion of Judah

This is my cry

That the blade would find me

Every weed ripped out

Every grain collected

Gathered into your storehouse

Bread of Life

So I eat of your flesh

I drink of your blood

And seek

Worker and wheat

To be part of the harvest

Stephen Pursell, 9/04