When Jehovah, grieved in heart, destroyed the earth (save Noah’s ark), He smelled of sacrifice’s sweet savor, turned to man in gracious favor; And spreading sky with prismed bow, recorded words so all would know That seed and harvest, heat and cold, would never cease while time should hold. So, in this cycle (seasons four), we’ll find, no doubt, a treasured store, Reminder and a promise sure, o’er sin God’s grace shall e’er endure. For though sin brings each man’s demise, the dead in Christ shall surely rise; And though the winter death will bring, we see new life each following spring.
Spring
The life of man in freshness starts, and soon the plow rich soil parts. Each seed is planted, some with care, and some are scattered here and there. But each will grow and come to fruit, the good and bad will both take root; And as the season fades away, his seedtime yields to summer’s day.
Summer
The summer vine yields tender grape (if foxes small we rightly take, And sweet communion is maintained), for joy untold can be attained Where heart and mind are singly placed on Him who’s saved us by His grace. But men in prime cannot be blessed, if little sins are not confessed.
Autumn
As autumn comes (and time to reap), two tales unfold to those who seek To know how days for them will close; One tells of brilliant trees and rows Of harvest’s richest, boundless store, of blessed days on yonder shore; The other of months without fruit, plucked up, in autumn, by the root.
Winter
Now winter comes to one and all, reminder cold of Adam’s fall. And, as all seasons seem as two, first—death is sad, and happy, too. For those in sin, a fast-locked door through which they’ll pass to live no more. But death can never have a sting for those whose souls to heaven it brings. So as you live your life this day, consider all your journey’s way. Your God will every moment keep, and what you sow, you’ll also reap: For good seed blessed, for bad seed cursed, when on your eyes His vision bursts, His praises you’ll leap forth and tell, or spend eternity in hell.
B. Short