Of Veiled Masterpieces

‘Tis futile to rebel to colors dripping from God’s brush,

For who of us can tell the what, the wherefore or the why

Of He who paints the hurling gale or frosted morning hush?

His mercy falls in moment-drops and dwarf’s time’s minute sky

The colors on God’s brush are drawn from wellsprings filled with love

The tempering of mankind’s will and want may mystify

Our scope of understanding, but the Artist from above

Is not remiss; but longs man’s heart of hearts to satisfy

…and though we moan and groan beneath the colors of His will

and mark Time’s measure with its ticking clock and turning page

This Artist speaks in fathoms far beyond the visual

The fathoms of His grace exceeds the confines of thought’s cage

The colors dripping from God’s brush are not mere happenstance

But carefully He chooses shades of pardon’s purposed plan

And while we see in moments He sees past our circumstance

...His finished work a masterpiece within the heart of man

© Janet Martin

My very first impulse was to sigh a bit when I saw a fresh froth of snow this morning, but we are not the choosers of God’s colors.
What a mess that would be!

…on the bright side, my hubby just mentioned that its been a long time since he has had something he can so faithfully complain about!