The Fruit of Grace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The buds of spring were summers blooms,

But autumn’s whispering,

And soon the winter rains will fall

With promises of spring.

 

The seasons come, each for a time,

And then they move along.

We dance to summer’s melody,

Til winter sings its song.

 

Still, each season brings its blessings.

Sweet life and joyful zest

Gives way to bountiful harvest,

And then a time of rest.

 

Each season holds its own purpose,

And, in its time and place,

Each season helps us grow from bud

Into the fruit of grace.

 

Ecclesiastes 3

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: