First, we need to plow the land,
Break up the soil…prepare;
Rocks and hard clumps…remove,
Roots pulled up with great care.
Now, let’s plant our crop of wheat,
By hand…we’ll scatter grain;
Up and down across the field,
Then, back and forth…again.
A little rain now…lots of sun,
A gentle breeze to blow;
Before we know it…tiny shoots appear,
Tiny plants…up and down each row.
Summer’s heat speeds up the growth,
The wheat…a healthy green;
Rippling back and forth in the breeze,
Across the field…’tis seen.
Scorching heat upon the land,
Turning the wheat to a golden color;
Harvest soon upon us…now,
A reward for all our labor.
But, what is this…a mixture here,
Something more than what we planted?
Very similar it does appear,
But, definitely not what we wanted.
Tares appear…here and there,
Certainly not in our plans;
Pull them up…pull them up,
Root the tares out of our land.
If we pull up the tares,
Surely, the wheat will come up…too;
That’s not the solution,
There’s nothing we can do.
The wheat and the tares,
They grow up next to each other;
We can’t hardly tell them apart,
They look so much like one another.
Now, harvest time is here,
And…looking down each row;
We can tell the wheat from the tares,
For a different way…they did grow.
The tares had grown so very tall,
Straight and proud…stood they;
While the wheat…heavy with its grain,
Had bowed over…humble were they.
The tares shall be gathered up,
And, then they shall be burned;
The wheat brought into the barn,
Winnowed…and then milled.
Like as they are…so are we,
In so many ways;
Standing tall…until the harvest,
Then…Truth shall have its say!
We can ask ourselves the question,
“Am I a wheat or a tare?
Will I be plucked up and burned,
Or…like the wheat…I’ll fare?”
Each one of us can appear to be,
Something we are not;
But, rest assured…that day will tell,
If we’re just ‘good’…or ‘Blood-bought’.
Has our life been…'outward appearance',
For it has deceived many;
Or are we ‘Blood-bought’?
To Father God…it was very costly!
March 15, 2003
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