To Glory the Feast

Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad;
let the sea resound, and all that is in it;

let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them.
Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy;

they will sing before the LORD, for he comes,
he comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples in his truth.

– Psalm 96:11-13


Have you ever imagined what it would be like for all the trees and forests to sing for joy? The intrinsic beauty of their creator within their midst producing an unrestrained ecstasy so powerful as to manifest itself in the language of music? Neither have I. I have not the capacity. That future resonance has but an echo in the beauty we see in nature around us. Creation groans with labor pains, to deep to perceive, waiting for the sons of God to be revealed in glory as the Lord of the universe makes His dwelling among them. Yet even in their groaning, beauty and life leaks through to grace my senses. I have been blessed to grow up in Colorado, seeing the cycles of seasons and the majestic scope of natural grandeur in my day to day life. So often I take for granted the obvious majesty displayed all around me - soaring above my head and fading beneath my feet as I worry my way through existence. Yet occasionally I find myself face to face with the magnitude of such quiet strength and displays of such subtle splendor that I cannot but vent my heart in pleasure. Such occasions are often found for me as I study the complex simplicity of the tree and the intricacies that run the length of her mighty boughs. Especially in autumn, as a chill seeps into the air, the trees seem to exude gratitude and praise for recent grace into every stem and leaf. Caught in the midst of such worship this fall, I had to add my small voice to their chorus:


To Glory the Feast

The leaves fall radiant, crowned gold with emerald vein;
Upon grass still green
To lightly settle there.
Flaming flakes to grace the ground;
Trees singing praise in fading.
From bud to flower, leaf and fruit, the branch has worked its full;
And now in rest, its labor done,
Dons gown to glory in the feast.
With celebration finished she fades to rest,
In peace to fly the frost.
Until with strength renewed, she stretches branches in the spring;
With buds unfurled and songs of youth,
Another season stirs the soul.