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Date published: December 23, 2003
It is writte; All flesh is grass, and the glory of man (works of the flesh) is the flower of the grass. The grass (flesh) dies, and the flower thereof (works of the flesh) falls away.
"THE GLORY OF MAN"
As ye sit in lonely hours meditating on the flowers
That once bloomed in radiant splendor beautifying all the world;
Here today and gone tomorrow, taking peace and leaving sorrow,
And a memory of a fragrance as they timidly unfurled.
Ah, the unrelenting power of the smallest fragile flower
In the eyes of the beholder as he takes them to his heart;
All the flowers of the grasses in a fading moment passes,
Yet they hold thy thoughts in bondage even after ye must part.
Would to God ye could remember, when ye feel the burning ember
Of desire toward each petal of a work that's dead and gone;
Fleshly work in all its glory can't begin to tell the story
Of the joy that now awaits thee if ye let them just pass on.
Know ye not, oh child of sadness, that ye hold the seeds of gladness
Waiting for the dew from heaven which will give them strength to grow;
But thy heart is ever yearning, ever trembling, ever burning,
Longing for the faded flowers, of the weeds which ye did sow.
Turn thy thoughts, look not behind thee; loosen all the ties that bind ye;
Lean not on bent reeds of Egypt, lest they break and pierce thy hand.
I will give ye now a token, a bruised reed shall not be broken;
Be ye meek in heart and spirit if ye fain would ever stand.
Crumbs and hoarfrost is not manna; note the prayer and song of Hannah,
Lest a worse fate than of Balaam find ye weighed and wanting sore.
Leave the fiches and the cumin, take the urim and the thummim;
Take the mantle from thy shoulder, smite the river and cross o'er.
R. D. "Jack" Boggs
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Poetry
