Splendour of the Meadows

I walked to chapel this week, and nearly lost myself in a meadow. The grasses were rich and beautiful, swaying in the breeze, and as tall as my belly. So lush were they, that the path I could not see, and the stile out of the field was barely visible. Yet its days are limited- soon the farmer will want to mow his crop, so his cattle are well fed in the lean winter months.


Says Psalm 37:20:

But the wicked shall perish; and the enemies of the Lord, like the splendour of the meadows, shall vanish. Into smoke they shall vanish away.

Human glory is like the fine meadow grass- a marvel to behold, but only ever temporal. By the time you read this, the field will be as bald and stubbly as a shaven head.