Across the fields my feet did wander,
No fixed destination but yonder.
The rising land, the cool fresh air,
My heart was light, and the day fair.
And in strolling through that natural scene,
Heaven’s distance seemed much less between.

As I walked, a new pasture I passed,
It’s nature quite different to last.
The previous ‘twas cropped short, clean
It’s attendance and care clearly seen.
But this meadow long deprived a mow,
And thus therein great weeds did grow.
Over my head did some of them reach,
And in their tall forms a lesson to teach.

Each heart is a pasture, a field
Each with ground and a harvest to yield.
If in an inward stroll we perceive,
Something tis not a goodly sheave,
And if while small, these weeds submit,
God can uproot them if we permit.
But if our meadow is left unchecked,
Wild plants intrude through neglect,
Up will they stretch, and broad extend
Longer the left, the harder to mend.

It is later grief God wants to spare,
This what He that day made aware.
For tis not just what we sow, we reap
But also what we choose to keep.
Such were the thoughts mine to ponder
When by these fields my feet did wander.

- Melissa Wynne