The earth is full of His glory,
Glory in shorn fields and gray sky,
Glory in burnt flame of russet oak
Bare graceful branch and rustling stalk;
Beauty in chill air and garland of bittersweet,
Brown woods, and the last leaves’ gold fire.
The earth is swept and garnished,
Rain-beaten, leaf-blanketed warm;
Dried vines turned under nourish next year’s growth,
Thinned treelines draw neighboring pastures close;
The harvest is safely gathered in,
And underneath are the everlasting arms.
Copyright © 2021 Elisabeth Grace Foley