Subdue my unconcern with little sins,
Death in installments, small sips of decay,
Rebellions I would rather overlook.
Correct the imperfection in the lens
Through which I see and fail to see the way
I idolize the gods that I forsook.
Some years ago, I felt convicted to change directions.
Do flowers honor Father more than I?
For they do not rebel against his name,
Never abandon purpose to proclaim
Another glory. Ev’ry passerby
Is bidden by the bud to look beyond,
To glimpse the author of the grand design.
I point as well, but I demand a fine,
Some profit for the prophet. Still, the frond
Is ever faithful. Though its days are few,
Great kings cannot compare to its array,
A testimony from the soil and sod.
Look closely and detect the divine hue
And find the same at work within your clay.
All beauty bears the signature of God.