  Hath Heaven’s blessing passed away? The sky’s sweet smile quite gone? There is no sacred rain by day, No beaded dew at dawn. How can Thy helpless creatures live When drought destroys the sod? Upon our knees we pray Thee give Thy creatures food, O God! The little stream hath ceased to run, The clover-bloom is dead, The meadows redden in the sun, The very weeds are fled. Their heads the mournful cattle shake Beside the thirsting wood. Lord, hear the humble prayer we make, To give Thy creatures food. The panting sheep gasp in the shade, Their matted wool is wet, And where the cruel share is laid The striving horses sweat; They welcome death—’tis pain to live— Restore Thy blessed sod; Oh, hear our humble prayer and give Thy creatures food, O God! —R. K. Kernighan. By special permission. |
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