Wind
The sound of whispers in the trees,
The calm of summer’s evening breeze,
The sound of whispers in the trees,
The calm of summer’s evening breeze,
The freshness of the gales in spring,
All make the weary spirit sing.
E’en winter’s blasts in beauty blow,
When whirling flakes of pure, white snow.
No season stops the mighty wind,
No will can e’er its power rescind,
Whene’er it blows we feel the force,
Of wind unhindered in its course.
Oh, grant that we may also feel
The breath of God with power to heal;
The wind that warms the coldest hearts,
Yet cools the flame of Satan’s darts,
That strengthens runners for the race,
And quickens each contestant’s pace,
That soldiers for the war equips,
While proud self-confidence it strips,
That sends the workers to the field,
And grants in harvest ample yield.
Oh wind of God, now blow on us
The blessings of your Spirit thus,
Unhindered blow this very hour,
Unshackled show your mighty power.
Our plight behold, our plea attend
May rushing wind on us descend,
With seasons of refreshing rain,
That make our labour no more vain.
Oh, grant, as you in nature give,
The wind that makes our spirits live.
Nita Brainard