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Feather's Miscellany: Harvest Hymn

"Fill us with the grace to give,'' writes John Waddington-Feather.

Gold the heavy cornfield glistens
in the burning noonday sun;
still the weighty air which listens
to the constant thieving hum

of marauding bees which snatch
honey from the headland troves:
poppies, cornflowers, purple vetch,
daisies, fireweed, rape-seed rogues.

Filled the fields to all their edges,
bountiful with richest gifts,
freely strewn through ditch and hedges
soul and eye the vista lifts.

These for nothing, God, you proffer,
food and drink that we may live;
we, in turn, have much to offer,
fill us with the grace to give.

John Waddington-Feather


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