Ujamaa Christian Poetry

God's Rose

There's a canvas on the easel, a brush in my hand,
I have all the colors ever seen by any man.
The canvas is the garden in which I labor today.
The rose is the subject I paint as I pray.
I paint, scrape, and blot it; not really satisfied.
"How long does it take God to make a rose?" I cried.

Clay made from the earth and rain from Heaven above,
He sculptured each petal with hands filled with love.
He painted it crimson with the blood from His side.
When He looks down from Heaven, is He satisfied?
Is the dew on the rose petals tears from His eyes?
How long does it take God to make a rose with pride?

I know I'll be a rose in the Master's bouquet.
Does He count the tears it took to wash my sins away?
Once I was crimson, but I'll be washed white as snow,
Then He'll gather up His Heavenly fold.
I'll try to be patient as I wait for His call.
How long does it take God to make a rose after all?

Written by Mary Helen Biggers


Ujamaa Christian Poetry