In the garden of my soul there lies a field of flowers–planted by God:

Her name is Joyce.

The fragrance of her flowers, their diversity of color, the beauty of them all,

          Warms my heart—hours upon hours.

Day and night the Son will shine upon His field to bring forth fruit of love,

          Her life to Him she’ll yield.

Her blossoms are filled with joy and life; that quiets

Troubled heart and mind from strife.

My field of flowers seeks little for herself.

          As I walk among my field, I experience her illumined brightness.

Throughout our years of married life, she’s made me a man of wealth.

From off my shoulders fall all weariness and care; replaced by His radiant love

          That both of us do share.

As God’s Spirit moves there comes a gentle breeze upon my field,

          And quickly to His loving care with alacrity we yield.

Throughout life’s journey upon this world our Father made,

          To reach our final resting place is but briefly delayed.

My field of flowers and I will never die.  For we’re eternally renewed

          By Son-light from the sky.

My field of flowers must be sewn and sewn again,

          That hills and mountains conquered–the over comers crown to win.