By Rev. Lonnie C. Crowe
Crisp morning breath
Softening in the noontide
Deepening in 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 is psalm
For ladened cribs and fatten flocks.
The housewife, pausing near the shelves
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.
