As I walked along the riverside,
I praised the Lord
For His handiwork.
It could be seen in all
That I surveyed.
The silver-blue glitter of water
Rippling over rocks of gray.
Nature’s grassy carpet
Of plush and vibrant green.
The warm colors of leaves
That glow in golden sunlight,
And cool colors
In fragile flowers—
Pink and palest purple.
Soft, clean clouds that float
In fluffy clusters.
The mighty oak
That stands in majestic silence,
And all creeping creatures
That make the earth their home.
A melody of praise
To the glorious Creator of all.
And so I stood,
Admiring all around me
That I saw and heard;
And I felt peace.
Then,
The clouds of cotton white turned gray,
And the water, too.
All color fled
In advance of the storm
That threatened even the oak.
When it came—
The winds howling louder than the bird-song,
The rain beating the river,
The lightning shining as the sun once had—
I fled
To the nearest shelter
To wait for it to end.
All color
Was washed away
To pale imitations.
All sound
Became confusing tumult.
And I wondered
Why God would send the rain
When the sun was so much better,
Warmer,
Brighter,
So easy to enjoy.
And surely the crash of thunder
Could not be as pleasant
As other sounds had been.
Why
Does God send the rain?
When the storm was over,
And the clouds rolled back,
I stepped out
And once again surveyed the scene about me.
Raindrops lay on leaves
And flowers
Like shining, precious jewels,
And all colors
Were more fresh and vibrant than before.
And the song of Nature
Was gentle once again, but now
It had more meaning.
This new vitality of creation
I saw and felt
And heard
In a new way.
Then I understood
That God
Had sent the darkening storm
To wake the earth,
To make it sing,
To clean and brighten all.
And so He does with me
When I need to wake,
To sing,
To be brighter for Him.
