A song of creation.

I am but a blade of grass
And all my glory as the flower thereof.
I have been planted in Your word,
Nourished by Your love,
Pruned by Your correction.
Your grace is as clouds
That protect me from Your wrath
That burns as the noonday sun.
Your words are drops of rain
That establish my roots.
My flower blooms
In the light of Your righteousness
Shine on me that I may grow thereby.
My roots hold firm in the soil of truth.
The winds of adversity cannot move me.
You give unto me all things
That I may grow in season.
You protect my leaf from pests,
That their venom dost not corrupt me.
Weeds encompass me and seem to prosper
Though their root is shallow
And their hope in vain things.
Alas you pull back Your clouds
And reveal Your burning light.
All that is around me withers
Yet I am nourished ever more.
You cause my fruit to increase,
Free from pride lest it rot.
My wilted leaves are pruned,
All mine impurities plucked away,
That I may produce more for You.
In season You will receive the harvest,
And all that’s corrupted will be burned.
The pest eaten and the withered,
The fruitless and rotten,
They will all be burned.
Nourish me then that I may be useful,
For You, O God, hast planted the world.

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