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Thoughts when walking through decayed woodland which was undergoing redevelopment
To serve the King? - or but to waste away,
A branch discarded, barren,
rotted, dead,
Which fungus-spotted dark dull leaves embed,
Concealed
'neath withered growth of yesterday?
Is this our end? Inert to lie, a
prey
To the rude rigour of youth's careless tread -
Or shattered,
pounded, bulldozed, fed
To steely jaws as onward crawls today?
Yet life, love, zeal our King requires, the power
Of bright green
shoots responding to his joy,
Drawing resurgent vigour from his earth,
Cherished by sun and spirit, washed each hour!
Then let us live,
strive, serve, his gifts employ,
And living, to the dead display his
worth.
Apart from me you can do nothing. John 15:5
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