Autumn

By Rev. Lonnie C. Crowe

Crisp morning breath

Softening in the noontide,

Deepening with the day,

Redolent in the cinnamon

Of fallen leaves and burning wood.

Fields, once green, then golden,

Now newly frosted,

Gleam in russet-bronze.

The earth's returned the harvest

And seeks repose.

We, too, desire respite.

Autumn, amber, umber, Autumn,

Golden, flaxen, honey-hued.

Multitudinous tones

Of withered grass, ruddy leaf

And tranquil turf.

O Lord, our God,

Our Creator, our Sustainer,

In Autumn, we worship Thee.

The harvester surveying fallow fields

Lifts his heart in psalm

For laden cribs and flatten flocks.

The housewife, pausing near the shelf

And fragrant larder,

Sings her sacred song.

Young ones, basking in the fiery glow,

Harken to the swirl and plash of storm

And, mindfully, remember Thee.

O Lord, our God,

We worship Thee.

In Autumn, we worship Thee.