Rise from sleep,
day has come,
now are the hours of the sun.
Time to work,
time to plod,
turning hand to till the clod.
Dirt beneath
stomping feet,
Plow-crushed earth smelling sweet.
Rock and thorn
Causing pain,
Fields of mud in pouring rain.
Muddled furrows,
hard to see
where seed will sprout and plant will be.
Day in, day out
rise,
work,
eat,
sleep,
laugh,
brood,
Wonder,
weep,
till death.
Then take another breath.
Rise from sleep,
Day has come!
Now is the Hour of the Son.
Taken from the 2020 edition of Artos, the literary journal of Bethlehem College & Seminary students. Photo by B. Williamson, B.A. ’19