The trees of the field will blossom with fruit,
The flowers yield their sweetness to the earth.
Each is a part of life's pursuit
Of Spring and Winter, death and birth.
For each the time to blossom or to die,
To sow with tears the ripening ground--
The time to reach, grasping toward the sky,
The time to wither and lie down.
And in the blossom is the prize,
The jewel carved by dew and light--
The treasures that rejoice the eyes,
Are but a moment burning bright.
Should we, God's flowers, dread or fear
As though our bloom could untimely fall?
In the Master's garden we are dear--
When our blossom's perfect He will call.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
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