THE PLOW OF THE LORD

THE PLOW OF THE LORD

The Plow of the Lord
Does harrow man deep
With horrors unmeasured
Disasters all steeped,
As high as a pyre
As cold as a barrow
Bone shattered shards
Grief sharp as an arrow,

The Plow of the Lord
Like an unsharpened axe
Beats ‘gainst the mind
On the soul grimly hacks,
The body is frail
When the blade passes through
When the plow breaks the Earth
Of the flesh that is you,
The Spirit is willing
Able, and true, but
The Plow is relentless
We all know it’s true,
There’s a blade in the hand
Of the Lord that is sharp
Do as you will
It still cuts to the Heart,
Yet the Plow of the Lord
As it shears you away
As it grinds and it harries
By night and by day
Prepares you for planting
Scours you for seed
To plant something better
In hope and in deed,
The Plow of the Lord
Is heavy with weight
It turns and it churns
All men as if clay,
It slices his veins, and
Opens his blood
Hooks out his roots
From the mire and mud,
Tears (tares) out a furrow
For the storm and the rain
Displaces the stones
Which all scream with the pain,
Makes a way for the sunlight
To illumine the ground
A place to start digging
When the treasure is found
For God knows that under –
Neath the soil of our sin
Lies a pearl deeply buried
That His Plow will upend.

 

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