Fields Of Gold

Fields Of Gold

The Summer's sleepy haze behold
As we delight in fields of gold,
Where poppies wave amongst the corn,
Like crimson pennants in the morn.

Harvest-time is drawing near,
Barley, rye and wheaten ear,
The year's good crops in barns laid by,
Protected from the Winter sky.

Golden sheaves adorn the field,
God's own blessings on the yield,
We are rich without compare,
To see this vast abundance there.

September's Moon will light our way,
As we wend home at end of day,
In memories our dreams will dance,
Thanksgiving for His providence.

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