My Guest Author is my Daddy, this poem taken from his book
“Great and Mighty Are God’s Ways – Stories to Stir Our Insight”
A BODY OUGHT to give thanks and praise to God for whom all praise is due.
Sixteen-hundred and twenty-one years ago God’s Son was born,
but it took me until last year to know
I should have praised Him long ago.
Last year I learned
God rides white capped waves
and camps on the edge of the wilderness.
Nor storm, nor night, nor death can turn away His face!
From tough hewn men and thrifty women,
I heard the words of thanks
Which had not sounded from under well thatched roofs
On cobbled streets,
Where ladies carried parasol
And gentlemen had servants to drive their trotting teams.
A year ago I learned thanks
Which I should have known before – the lesson came hard.
For a lark I joined, at Plymouth Town
The Captain Jones and seasoned crew
On MAYFLOWER heading all points west.
’Twas then the lesson came.
I saw it in the settlers’ eyes,
I heard it in their prayers.
Exiles they were,
But not exiled from the Lord Almighty,
Exiled from England – leaving Holland – two ships strong,
Seeking new lands they came,
Sailing with Virginia on their minds.
The larger ship turned back
And only half could carry on.
But they gave thanks and sailed.
The sea was rough, Green faced men grew sick in storm.
Whitecaps drove courage from sailor’s hearts.
However Pilgrims turned not back.
MAYFLOWER creaked and MAYFLOWER groaned
Like a coffin on a watery grave.
And in it all, they sang a song,
And raised their hands in praise.
At sea the snow blew thick.
Ice coated riggings; sails broke down.
A newborn baby cried her protest.
And we journeyed on while they gave thanks.
Land met us, bleak and cold.
Death trudged through forest trails.
Then Brewster said, “He’ll see us through.
The Almighty God, who brought us here,
Will walk before us in this land.
In the snow-drift harbor, I caught a faith.
Dying men tossed it to me like an extra garment.
“Wear This,” they said.
“It will keep you warm.”
And it did.
Then Spring danced across the land,
And with the south breeze the Red Man came.
My timid heart leaped to my throat,
But the faithful rose their voice in prayer,
And, when the Indian came, he came in peace.
“Twas in the spring – John Carver died
– and MAYFLOWER sailed back to England.
I stayed behind with those who taught me praise.
And now, wide furrows, live with ripening corn,
A whisper, “Harvest has come.”
“Tis Thanksgiving time!” God holds his hand to his ear!
Lift up your voice and shout
The Lord God Almighty,
Who leads pilgrims to new lands,
Is listening now to hear your praise. rbw
