From the rising to the setting of the sun,
the name of the LORD is praised.
Psalm 113:3
Finding a refreshed foothold on fathoms of endless deep
Day draws its waking breath in golden breadths of heaven’s
sweep
The eloquence of moments spills without the gift of
speech
Dawn, always laden with a sheaf of new lessons to teach
Today is always new, where we, never too old to learn
Are students, educated by the hand of no return
Where one’s wisdom increases not with easy song-and-dance
But by unequivocal truth that trips our arrogance
The seasoned way of seasons seeps through skylines and
through skin
It does not cater to our whims of disgruntled chagrin
But woos the way it always has where highs and lows
entwine
Into a labyrinth of tear-and-laughter grafted vine
Let’s labour to be thankful to the Giver of our days
And not let longing rankle what should be a hymn of praise
From mercy-meted rising to the setting of the sun
Let’s turn want into worship for the war our Lord has won
© Janet Martin
