The Farmer’s Prayer

The Farmer’s Prayer

With dawn’s first light, I rise once more,
To till the earth and work the shore,
With hands worn rough, but heart so pure,
Oh Lord, to You, I make this plea secure.

The soil beneath me, rich and deep,
Within it, countless secrets sleep,
I ask for rain, for sun, for grace,
To bless this humble, quiet place.

The seeds I plant, small, fragile, meek,
Are dreams for which my heart does seek,
Nurture them, as I do toil,
Bless the labor, bless the soil.

In every furrow, hope is sown,
Yet I cannot do this work alone,
Guide my hand and clear the way,
That I might reap what I sow today.

When clouds are dark and winds are fierce,
And crops seem ready to disappear,
I turn to You with trembling heart,
And ask that mercy You impart.

For in Your hands, the harvest lies,
You water fields from endless skies,
Grant me patience, help me wait,
Through drought, through flood, and unknown fate.

I bow to nature’s fickle sway,
Yet seek Your will through each long day,
For though the seasons rise and fall,
Your hand still governs over all.

When weeds arise and threaten yield,
And pests invade my precious field,
I trust that You will keep them far,
And guide my efforts, near and far.

Through sweat and strain, and hours long,
I lift to You a grateful song,
For in each row, in each new leaf,
I find Your presence, strong belief.

The animals within my care,
They too, oh Lord, need Your love rare,
Bless the cattle, sheep, and hens,
Protect them, Lord, from wolves and men.

Through storms and drought, through calm and rain,
I trust You, Lord, through joy, through pain,
And when the harvest time has come,
I’ll thank You for the work well done.

The seasons change, the years roll by,
Yet I beneath Your faithful sky,
Will plant, will harvest, year by year,
With faith that You are always near.

When plow and scythe are laid to rest,
And evening paints the golden west,
I bow my head, my heart still full,
For You have made my life so full.

I ask not wealth, nor fame, nor praise,
Just strength to work through all my days,
With joy to watch the crops increase,
And peace within my soul’s release.

Each grain, each fruit, each blade of hay,
Each vine that grows along the way,
I offer up, a gift to You,
The One who makes all things brand new.

So hear my prayer, this farmer’s plea,
As I walk the fields, on bended knee,
And know, dear Lord, in all I do,
I labor, always, just for You.

Let each sunrise bring hope anew,
And every dusk bring peace so true,
For in the rhythm of the land,
I feel the guidance of Your hand.

The earth and sky, the wind and rain,
The growth, the loss, the joy, the pain,
They teach me more than I could know,
Of life, of love, of how to grow.

And when my harvest is complete,
My journey ends, my soul replete,
I’ll lay my tools and rest my frame,
And thank You, Lord, in whispered name.

But till that day, my work will go,
With trust in You, my cr
ops will grow,
So bless my fields, my heart, my prayer,
For in Your love, I know You care.

Amen.