Precious Privilege

He carves creek-beds and fills them

With spring’s first madrigals

Then threads its silver ribbon

Through rolling meadow-halls

He wreaths the earth with flowers  

And from Time’s spinning wheel

He weaves from naught the hours

Which fill each season-reel

He forms in hidden places

The lace of coppice-crown

The darkness He erases

With morning mantle thrown

Soft where the mountain towers

Before it warms the dell

He strums the waking bowers

In whispers, ‘it is well’

He rakes the deep with thunder

He sees the sparrow fall

From window-seats of hunger

We wonder at it all

And yet, while the mind questions

He stills the seeking heart

And all that we can murmur then

Is Lord, how great Thou art

Atonement’s Rock of refuge

Salvation’s thorny crown

Alpha and Omega God

Hope’s faultless corner-stone

He fills the night with morning

And thrills the stricken limb

Then grants to us the privilege

Each day, of serving Him

© Janet Martin

 He who forms the mountains, who creates the wind, and who reveals his thoughts to mankind, who turns dawn to darkness, and treads on the heights of the earth-- the LORD God Almighty is his name. Amos 4:13