There's a special time of day
When nothing is astir;
In the world of nature-
Naught is seen or heard.
Seems it is a ritual
Passed down from ancient days,
When the Father's worshipped
In a sacred, precious way.
Birds don't feed - squirrels won't chase,
Trees are quiet and still...
You can almost hear the music
Above His dales and rills.
Celestial choirs inaudible
To the human ear,
Praise and give God glory
For His grace throughout the year.
It is a solemn, reverent time
Respected EVERY day;
By those in tune and grateful
For their Master's Loving ways!
~penned by lynn foust
