In My Grandfather’s House

There came of late an autumn eve 

when longing filled my heart to go

to live in light, away for a while

in the House of my Grandfather.

His harvests were rich ones always

⎯this was my faithful trust⎯

and earth-sweet and pungent

with the deep movements of mind.

His gathering delved to roots,

uncovered growth’s secret origins

in dark places, so that hungerings

to be soil myself for living thought

therewith found their best food.

To be apprenticed in nurturing

in the wide fields of understanding

and copious dream I purposed,

watered by His long concern.

For I remember years ago how

His strength, His power gently

cradled the fragility of my soul⎯

a babe to be a god one day,

a seed to be a tree fruit-laden,

a flowering meadow to be free.

And I find a fragrance of my own

there in my Grandfather’s House,

there under His husbandry

⎯yea! this is my faithful trust⎯

when He brings His harvest home.

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