O blessed hay, all broken, marred and crushed,
What happy memories must haunt thee now!
Do humming bees still move in eager quest
For sweetness hidden in thy clover heart?
Do happy birds still swing in lowly sweep
Close to thy breast upturning to the sun?
And do the fleeting clouds still bless with rain
Thy thirsty form stretched naked ‘neath the sky?
At eventide when twilight spins her veil
Of loveliness, do gentle dews distill?
0 blessed hay, what memories are thine!
Today I see thee stretched upon the ground
All dry and broken ‘neath the seekers’ feet.
The hungry hearts kneel upon thee now.
It is not thee they seek-not thee, not thee.
How sweet thy willingness to have it so!
It is not theirs to know thy life or heart,
What care have they for what thou might have been,
Or what thy heart may hold for days to come?
They only seek a place to rest their knees­
The cruel earth is harsh to seeking hearts.
Then let them kneel or rest their weary forms
Upon thy broken beauty, once so dear.
Sweet waving grass in summer, sun-kissed field,
Though blest with all that nature may provide,
Is never hay till cut and wholly dried.
0 blessed hay, how sacred is thy lot!
The hungry soul may kneel upon thee hard,
May mar thy form and press thee to the dust,
But you are helping them to God just now.
It matters not what form our service takes­
Just be the thing the Master may desire­
Yes, hay upon the tabernacle floor.