A poem about how God works on me despite my failed efforts to improve.
God has a little acre
he planted all his own.
where precious seeds are sown.
He removed stones and stick and rubbish
And made it a place where love has grown.
And All is well when he works it,
You see, it is his own.
When God is working in my life
His wonders to full fill.
Plants and pulls and labors,
The stubborn earth he’ll till.
He makes all thing ready for life and growth and joy.
Using all the tool at his pleasure
Some we would never chose to employ.
But when he leaves the garden
For me to tend while he’s gone
It’s seems my life has trouble,
And it doesn’t take very long.
The fences crumble, the weeds thrive.
The vines get limp and brittle.
It seems I’m not much a gardner
When in His garden I fiddle.
So I yeild to Him the vineyard
To do His mighty will.
I confess I made quite a mess
When I try to do His will. q
But soon under His careful hand
The garden grows again.
For to let Him be the gardener in me
Was always His perfect plan.