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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