The ground is hard and dry,
Parched and ready for some rain.
It needs the touch of heaven,
To come back to life again.
Our land, it has been fallow,
Grief has filled the air.
The desert ground is barren,
Hopelessness is there.
Will we simply stare and say,
“Look at this bleak sight!”
Will we stay in apathy,
To resign without a fight?
The call to plow goes out,
To break up the fallow ground,
With prayers to prepare the soil,
For its turnaround.
The prayers are the plows,
That ready the soil for seed,
Helping to make a fertile place,
Where the heart will see its need.
The land that has a promise,
Though held in apathy’s grasp,
There is hope for our nation,
To save from the devil’s clasp.
The seeds are being sprinkled,
Upon the soil made tender,
With liquid love to show,
God’s radiance and splendor.
Those who weep with His heart,
With every tear that’s shed,
Help the land to come alive,
To awaken from the dead.
The tenderizing touch,
Of every liquid flow,
Help the seeds to sprout,
God’s brightness makes them grow.
The golden glory of His light,
Penetrates the soul,
Jesus is the way to life,
He makes the broken whole.
Those who know His heart,
And cry with love that’s deep,
There will be a harvest soon,
The weepers, they shall reap.
God’s love, it melts the hardness,
With the power of His hand,
His love revives the deadness,
In all hearts to heal our land.
