Will You Not Go?
By Bill Shurkey
The fields are white with the ripened harvest
But no workers prepare to reap.
My storehouse is defiled and polluted with chaff,
My barns lie in a heap.
Why are you reapers at ease in Zion
When your lives are not your own?
I purchased you with the blood of My Son,
To gather the wheat that was sown.
Gird up your loins, sweep your barns clean,
And walk through my holy fire.
I've told you to repent; I've asked you to pray,
Are you not worthy of your hire?
What excuse will you give, says the Lord of the harvest,
On that day when you see My face,
If My precious crop dies forsaken in the fields
Because you trampled underfoot My grace?
Bill is married to his best friend and lives in Greenville, SC. He has been writing for 30 years and has been published in many genres. Billís greatest loves, however, are fantasy for children and poetry. In writing for children he seeks to teach them, while at the same time making them laugh. Through his poetry, Bill tries to touch the universal emotions that are in us all Ė for Godís glory. You may contact Bill through the Your Letters page of this magazine.
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