In The Field Sown

In the ole field I'd sown,

I wrestle with the weeds.

A wreck of useless rubbish,

from a fool's planted seeds.

Some prick my heart,

yet I must sift the field.

As the atoning rain of Christ,

demands the weeds to yield.

So I prepare a fire,

and set the past to flame,

as the purifying love of Christ,

purges the thorns of shame.

Mercy turns the fallow ground,

as grace enriches the soil,

the Spirit bestows the power,

to avail with sweat and toil.

Thus I wait for harvest,

from the glory God has shone.

As living water nurtures,

the new field I've sown.

Jeffrey Brackett Quante IV

December 27, 2000