I once met two men.
One, a hard worker through and through.
At the break of dawn, he is already on the move
In fact, long before his body stirs, his mind is awake,
Mapping, planning, striving.
But he is godless.
The ground is hard, stubborn, unyielding
Much like the man who tills it.
A few cracks, a few breaks,
And he walks away, chest high,
Certain he has conquered the earth.
But has he?
He works tirelessly,
Yet his harvest is meager.
He sells much,
Yet his pockets have holes,
And wealth slips through his fingers like sand.
Hands on his head,
Eyes swollen with weary tears,
He stands at the edge of despair.
Yet, I know another man.
A hard worker indeed,
But he rises early.
He says:
“Oh Lord, bless me,
Show me the way to go,
The fields to till,
The seeds to plant.”
He does not move blindly
He moves as he sees.
At first, his harvest is small,
Yet what he gathers multiplies.
His needs are met,
And though he does not chase after wealth,
Blessings chase after him.
The ground yields to him,
Not by force,
But by favor.
You are most certainly one of them.
Which one?
