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Gracious Gift by Matthew Bokma A gracious gift, the fruit of love; Do accept, twas' from far above. A seed thou bare, please work the soil; Hath not farmer's fruits pass the toil? Mere future speaks, you see my face; And feel the warmth of joy's embrace. Pitter-patter, doth slap my feet; What ear's not twitch from such a beat? A suckling lamb, a blue birds nest; I find nourishment, peace, and rest. In thy womb a soul doth reside; I live, shall I for'er abide. To weigh my life, a farthing be; Yet much more, crowned by Majesty. |
Please contact Matthew Bokma at "mattattack777@hotmail.com" to request permission to use this poem.