The wild grass blows beneath the breeze
As if His gentle handHad brushed it softly as he moved
Across the warming land.
And there, amid the blowing grass,
Their colors, sweet and bright,
The blossoms turn to see His face,
Rejoicing in His light.
Because in each day, no matter how dark or how long, there is a praise to be found. Sometimes our hearts are too weary or too frightened to voice them, but our souls cry out to God... and He is there.
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