In Days of Old

Years ago in olive groves
I sang a song a child to dream,
picking berries black and brown
to carry to town and sell to lazy folk,

planted to grow in fruitful fields,
the raincloud falling down
spraying upon the trees
for our Savior-Jesus.

He washes away our fears
for crops that fail in stony fields
where the lost and lonely
cry away their pain,

please come back to town
with your bricks of clay
and a note to say
let’s build a church.

There for our worship
to love and hold
believing in Jesus
who will set us free,

roaming the hills and towns
where beggars sit in rows
pleading Alms please,
from our Savior,

teaching us how to see
our sight restored to believe
that we may plant the fields
for olive trees our crops to sell.