Autumn Calls

Autumn calls, but few there be that hear her.
   The loud, bright glare of California sun drowns out her voice.,
So does the muted dinge of dusty skies and smokey sun.
   She thus calls but most listen not—by choice.
  
Oh, there might be a tree or two that starts to change its leaves,
   Dropping green for yellow—but usually brown like moldy wheat.
There are the cool mornings that almost speak of cold,
   But quickly lose their chill amid the blaring glare of summer's incessant heat.

Ah, Autumn can you speak louder and call more insistently?
   Call to us with cool, crisp words more persistently?

Our skies are choked with dust and heat,
   Our land is plagued with drought before.
We long to see the cool, cool winds.
   And feel the life-giving rains once more

Pray to the Lord of the Harvest that there may be
   Workers to come and harvest the fields.
But we also pray that the Lord of the Skies would send rain,
   Rain to soften the land to give fruit and yield.

Autumns calls, but no one listens
  The loud, bright dazzle of sins blocks her calls.
So few stop to listen to that still, small voice.

We need the softening rains of Autumn,
   We need the gentle rains from God.
We need the indwelling of His Spirit,
   We need His poke that will prod!

Send us Autumn rains and revival, Lord.
   Send us life giving refreshment from Your Grace
We will perish without the cooling rains;
   Let us Your Love and Law embrace!

- D. Benning