My mind slips back

And in fancy I see my Father,

Hear again the whetstone -

As it slips from side to side

On the blade of the scythe.

"A tinkling sound ".

And the swish of the blade

Which lays the grass prostrate -

In rows - wilting and dying

Severed from its source of life.

God often uses His scythe

To teach us some great lesson.

Like the grass - we feel mowed down

And of our very life

We seem to lose our grasp.

'Tis only with continued cutting and care

That a beautiful lawn is prepared,

And in time instead of grass

It looks like a thick green carpet

Of the highest class.

So in our lives - God uses His scythe,

We feel desolate and bleeding

As the lesson we learn -

And Gods will discern

Thro much prayer and pleading.

Acceptable then are the soft warm showers

Of His love and healing grace.

To bring forth in us - the choicest flowers,

And a testimony - which shines forth

From a radiant face.