Golden rod

About this time every year I notice golden rods growing by the side of the road. Instantly I begin to sing a little song that my mom taught me and I taught Olivia. It goes like this; "The Golden rod is yellow, the corn is turning brown, the trees in apple orchards with fruit are bending down."  There are more words, but that is all I know. Since I decided to write about this tune I thought I would investigate this song to find out where it came from and how the rest of it goes. It turns out that it's not a song at all, but a poem called September.
I will post it below. It is very addicting to sing considering all the Goldenrod that grows in the South. It's amazing how a weed that grows by the side of the road stirs a song within me? A weed. I am writing about a weed today. A weed that caused a lady I never knew (Helen Hunt Jackson) to write a poem that my mom liked enough to teach to me and I taught to my daughter (well not all of it, but we know part of it).  Words are so powerful. We surely need to be careful how we use them. I have the following Bible verse on my refrigerator: Ephesians 4:29 "Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers." Oh that I would do that!!! Lord please use the Goldenrod ( God's Golden Rod of correction) to remind me to watch my words. Thank you Lord for this beautiful fall day. Lord Jesus thank you for blessing me with a precious family, go with them throughout their busy day. Bless my friends Lord, I am so grateful for them. May we all humble ourselves before you and recognize the beauty you have freely put before us. May we give you the praise that you deserve. Thank you for pretty weeds by the road that stir up songs within us and bring simple joy. In your precious and holy name I pray.I love you Jesus. Amen.

September by: Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

"The golden-rod is yellow;The corn is turning brown;The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun;In dusty pods the milkweed It's hidden silk has spun.The sedges flaunt their harvest,In every meadow nook;And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook,From dewy lanes at morning The grape's sweet odors rise;At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies.By all these lovely tokens September days are here,With summer's best of weather,And autumn's best of cheer.But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. Tis a thing which I remember;To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September I never can forget."

Go be a blessing ...