Fall Poem

3:57:00 PM

All the world is God’s own field

Fruit unto His praise to yield

Wheat and tares therein are sown

Unto joy or sorrow grown

Rip’ning with a wondrous pow’r

Till the final Harvest hour

Grant, O Lord of life, that we Holy grain and pure may be

~George J. Elvey

Happy Thanksgiving! ~Diamond

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