O may the Sower’s seed

fall in a ready place:

the open heart your furrowed field,

a clearing tilled by grace.

O may the promised rain

find buried grain down deep

and raise up singing shoots of wheat

where hope was fast asleep.

O may good workers come

to gather in the gold

and set a table in the world

with joy a hundredfold.

O may my life be bread

love-kneaded and increased

to feed the guests dear Love invites

to revel at the  Feast.