Friday, September 28, 2007

"God's Creation Sings"

A dear, online friend, Theodora in the Mountains posted a beautiful "meditation" on a group I subscribe to. This was so beautiful that I asked for her permission to re-print it here, which she graciously gave me. So, here it is. I wish I could write like this. Heck, I wish I could think like this!

God's creation sings

Sitting on the porch with my morning coffee I was enchanted by the wind moving through the trees. The sound was like a choir in full voice. As it raced through the tops of the tall, majestic pines the drone was like a mighty horn blowing through creation. As it reached the dry, drought ridden mighty oaks and maples it reached up into the high notes as it shook the leaves to the ground. A shower of dead leaves filled the air around the house. What a creation our Lord God made for us. I thought of the poem I had just read in a book found at the one last book store in town. A second hand store where the owner knows every book on her many shelves. It is titled "Rugged Hills, Gentle Folk - My friends and Neighbors in the Big Pine Valley". The life of that people put down in beautiful words and pictures. It is poem from 1900's about Fall.

Come little leaves, said the wind one day,
Come over the meadows with me and play.
Put on your dresses of red and gold;
Summer is gone and the day's growing cold.
Come little leaves! said the wind's loud call,
Down they came, fluttering one and all.
Over the fields, they danced and flew,
Singing the songs that only they knew.
Dancing and flying, the little leaves went.
For Winter was calling and they were content.

How like the Wind of God that sweeps through our lives. The changes of the seasons are given and the Lord provides even when the seasons change and what was once is no more. The drought makes the songs sung by my trees a different one than before but the Wind of God still brings forth the music of Him. My trees are one though not the same. There are Oak, and Maple, Pine and Dogwood. All trees but different in their own way. And the Wind of God blows through them all to the make a glorious mountain of songs. I
listen to the song as the Wind surrounds me, sitting on my porch. This too is life, this too is the Faith. Come Wind of God, sing for me Thy glorious song.

Delete if you wish, but the song goes on as so, too, will our Faith in this world to come.

Theodora in The Mountains


  1. For those who want the "whole thing," here it is:

    by George Cooper

    "Come, little leaves," said the wind one day,
    "Come over the meadows with me, and play;
    Put on your dresses of red and gold;
    Summer is gone, and the days grow cold."

    Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
    Down they came fluttering, one and all;
    Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
    Singing the soft little songs they knew.

    "Cricket, good-bye, we've been friends so long;
    Little brook, sing us your farewell song-
    Say you're sorry to see us go;
    Ah! you are sorry, right well we know.

    "Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold,
    Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
    Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade;
    Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

    Dancing and whirling the little leaves went;
    Winter had called them and they were content-
    Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
    The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads.

    = = = = =

    I always liked it. It was in a poetry book for children I had as a little 'un!
    Love in Christ,

  2. It was 1950, I was eight, and my family had just moved to an enchanting small town, Ashland, Virginia, just some thirty miles north of Richmond. I cannot believe that there is anyplace on Earth which has a lovlier nor a more dramatic display of Fall leaves. So many maples and dogwoods. I loved to walk to school, all the while shuffling and kicking my feet through the beautiful leave.
    It was in Ashland that I was taught this splendid poem, though we were taught to sing it! And what a joy to sing it to my growing son while we found maple trees for us to enjoy with our feet.
    It was also in Ashalnd, at the same time, that I was introduced to James Whitcomb Riley's poem, Little Orphant Annie", which I still love to recite. An absolute must for Halloween!
    Both are glorious celebrations of Fall.
    (I know one ought not to capatilize the names of the seasons but as they are all so important to me, I just can't help it!)
    Nearly time for Winter songs,
    Don't forget "In the Bleak Midwinter"!