(c) June Perkins

“Glorified art Thou, O Lord my God! Every man of insight confesseth Thy sovereignty and Thy dominion, and every discerning eye perceiveth the greatness of Thy majesty and the compelling power of Thy might. The winds of tests are powerless to hold back them that enjoy near access to Thee from setting their faces towards the horizon of Thy glory, and the tempests of trials must fail to draw away and hinder such as are wholly devoted to Thy will from approaching Thy court.”

For more visit Nineteen Months

A poem inspired by current events and reflecting on the above quotation.

Field of Trials

Trials continue
     each combining like dry grass blades 
     scorched by humanity's tears
     multiplied by sunlight
     photosynthesised by pain.

Tall winds of tests flowing into a 
   field of Midas touch troubles
   where the rich grow richer
   from pandemics
  and everything they touch in danger.

Trail your fingers to the feel of grass blades
  to the sting of water poisoned by colonist's greed
   more tempests sway
   volcanoes in the middle of the Pacific
   islands going under volcanic ash and tsunamis
   now ... sharp silences waiting to hear of survivors.

Search for the horizon of glory
    above the tall weeping grass blades
    above the poisoned and rising waters
    soft barked trees clothed in 
   hope's synthesis.
Green leaves of the tree
  say 'we are all one
look for me beyond the trials
I'll help you find your 
           discerning eyes.'

June Perkins

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