The Fields of May

On an eve serene in the Ozarks green
Through a shop and some talk astray,
We had mused the breeze strove upon the trees,
By the streams on the fields of May.

So we steered along till we heard the song
Of the birds under wind swept grey;
Joined with them the breeze, strumming on the trees,
By the streams on the fields of May.

The wild breezes brushed through the trees & gushed
With the cheer of dear children’s play;
On the grass it blew with a wave to you,
By the streams on the fields of May.

And the creeping beasts came and took their seats
At the feet of the verdant brae,
And appeared to praise in their beastie ways,
By the streams on the fields of May.

Oh you epic scenes, never cease to bring
This due offering of your praise;
All you seasons sing unto God with Spring,
By the streams on the fields of May.

When the climes have sang and their chorus rang,
Till the grass has been bailed to hay,
They’ll yet play in heart, each endearing part,
By the streams on the fields of May.

How many Mays have I before I fly
To my eternal Springtime day?
But oh wind and leaves, do still praise Him please,
By the steams in the fields of May.

And if you should last, my most dearie lass
Past the day when I part away,
You’ll remember me, as sweet mem’ry flees,
To the streams by the fields of May.

Charles Church 5/26/2022