0186 Praise Poem by Michael Shepherd

'Whatever that you think you lack - give that! ' -
this saying, heard, lodged in my mind a space;
like seed that seems inert - yet, not inert;
its hidden clock an instrument of grace;

the mind, that soil which meanwhile does not know:
it neither knows what lies in its embrace,
nor its own precious nutrients which grow
that seed; nor knows the Sower; nor His grace -

until the day that in some Spring of light,
I realised: I, meanly, denied - praise:
the praise of human beings in my sight;
and thus, the praise of that one source of praise.

so sought occasion, each and All to praise;
now Praise, with golden hand, seeds all my days.