Autumn’s Clock

From a tree we learn

how to long and yearn

for God’s best,

Sabbath rest,

in death’s final test.

“Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock,”

goes the Autumn Clock.

Though the tree once green,

age has come unseen.

Life’s demise

and dark skies.

Mournful willow cries.

A cold hand outstretched,

a wintry chill fetched.

The leaves quake,

branches shake,

sorrow’s silent wake.

Soundless, the leaves fall.

The tree’s life will stall.

Lullaby hum,

deaf and dumb,

til the New has come.

The tree’s death rattle,

Fall gusts in battle.

Creation weeps.

Garden sleeps.

God, his promise keeps.

“Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock,”

goes the Autumn Clock.

Weep not for the tree,

for you cannot see

all’s not lost

beneath the frost

Death can never exhaust.

Spring will renew

turning frost to dew.

Edict make,

“Tree, awake!

New day’s dawn will break.”

From flowers to fruit,

and a living root.

Blossom, bloom,

empty tomb,

soothe the Garden’s gloom.

“Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock,”

goes my mortal clock.

Clock, tick no longer!

My God is stronger.

We will sing.

Praises ring!

From the grave, we’ll spring!

For the Savior’s friends,

this sad age soon ends.

Life restore,

the Lion’s roar.

Spring reigns forevermore.

From a tree we learn

how to long and yearn

For Spring’s flower,

Heaven’s hour,

resurrection power.

A Church & Cemetery in the Great Smoky Mountains