I see Him in the blossom,
In the way spring meadows show new green.
I feel His touch in an evening breeze;
His voice, in the haunting calls of birds.
The harshest seas and bitterest cold,
The darkest smoke of stormy skies,
The loudest claps of thunder cry out
The power of His Name.
His smile is upon my face
With the lightest rain, the brightest sun.
His crickets sing me to sleep on a bed of roses.
I am His, dawn to dusk, night and day, every season
Every moment I am His.
Copyright June 1, 2011
Editor’s note: Rebecca wrote, “‘I See Him in the Blossom’ came to mind when I read Angela Rush’s article ‘A flower growing in the freezing cold answered my questions’.” (April 2017 Niagara Anglican)