The laden heart’s load—
sheaves labor-bought
through battering, sun-burnt days,
clusters culled
by long, drenched toil,
sweet dripping from the vine.
In gathered, the first fruits,
bushel, bale, work and savored
rest in the evening breeze,
joy, contentment,
grief and fear entwined,
all-woven through,
with more-than-golden
thread. See love!
The Gardener comes surveying
heaps of words and prayers,
deeds done for Him.
Through storehouses He wanders,
where love alone
captures His gaze. Love
seeing love, knows His beloved,
small yet akin; He tarries here.
Ah! This refreshment He seeks,
the harvest-fruit desired.
May He bless its growth within
until the yield be reaped rejoicing—
and laid at His feet?
No, it shall be gathered
in His arms.
Sr. Cecilia Francis, CFR