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Harold Macdonald |
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[Tune: This is my Father’s world]
its blizzards and its storms the icy street, the frozen feet, the kitchen stove that warms! This is my Father’s world And in it I will praise. Him I will crown, throughout the town In all these wintry days.
This is my Father’s world Beneath the snow it sleeps! As still as dead, in winter’s bed No rendezvous it keeps. This is my Father ’s worldHe knows my ruddy face His cold so clean, His spirit, lean I feel the sting of grace!
This is my Father’s world it puts me to the test My little spark lights up the dark The cheerful fire, my guest. This is my Father’s world My frame, great coats enfold With skill I’ll last ’til winter’s past: Withstand the bitter cold.
This is my Father’s world In time there comes the morn When from its tomb as from the womb The earth will be reborn! This is my Father’s world It rises over death! When Easter’s here and spring is near I’ll praise with every breath
Copyright © Harold Macdonald, Poems from the Eighth Decade |
This is my Father’s
world