The Reaper and The Flowers

The Reaper and The Flowers
by Henry W. Longfellow

There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
“Shall I have naught that is fair?” said he,
“Have naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.”
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes;
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
“My Lord hath need of these flowerets gay,”
The reaper said, and smiled;
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear,”
And the mother gave in tears and pain
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In fields of light above.
Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The reaper came that day;
‘Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away!

The Man Who Personified My Grandparent's Generation

      George Beverly Shea (February 1, 1909 – April 16, 2013) was a Canadian-born American gospel singer and hymn composer. Shea was often described as "America's beloved Gospel singer" and was considered "the first international singing 'star' of the gospel world," as a consequence of his solos at Billy Graham Crusades and his exposure on radio, records, and television. Because of the attendance at Graham's Crusades, Shea has sung live before more people than anyone in history. Read more . . .

"George Beverly Shea, long-time friend and ministry partner to evangelist Billy Graham, passed away April 16, 2013 at age 104. This video looks back at his life and legacy.
For more memories visit: http://www.georgebeverlysheamemorial.org"

• George Beverly Shea at the Internet Movie Database
• "America's Beloved Gospel Singer"
• Song/Ministry links
• Obituary Press Release from the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, 2013.04.16

Folding The Lambs In His Bosom.

       The Savior folds a lamb in His bosom. The little child filled all the house with her music, and her toys are scattered all up and down the stairs just as she left them. What if the hand that plucked four o'clocks out of the meadow it still? It will wave in the eternal triumph. What if the voice that made music in the home is still? It will sing the eternal hosanna. Put a white rose in one hand, and a red rose in the other hand, and a wreath of orange blossoms on the brow; the white flower for the victory, the red flower for the Savior's sacrifice, the orange blossoms for her marriage day. Anything ghastly about that? Oh, no. The sun went down and the flower shut. The wheat threshed out of the straw. "Dear Lord, give me sleep," said a dying boy, the son of one of my elders, "dear Lord, give me sleep," And he closed his eyes and awoke in glory. Henry W. Longfellow writing a letter of condolence to those parents, said: "Those last words were beautifully poetic." And Mr. Longfellow knew what is poetic. "Dear Lord give me sleep."

"'Twas not in cruelty, not in wrath

That the reaper came that day;

'Twas an angel that visited the earth

And took the flower away."

       So it may be with us when our work is all done. "Dear Lord give me sleep." Talmage