Oh Love of his Father
Please hear his cry.
His voice cometh from a weak man,
Without a remaining dry eye.

Hear him Lord, despite his pain,
Hear the voice of His Lord.
Oh Love, if you're listening,
These are the cries of a broken man.

The storms of summer have never come,
Your tears of rain did not fall.
His crops are dying as he kneels, head bowed,
Oh please, dear Love, hear his call.

The yellow gold of this farmer
Lies dying, the stalks holding small ears.
He's praying Love, as the locusts swarm,
Please listen to the cries through his tears!

And the Lord, his Love, was listening
And he heard those cries full of pain.
And the Lord, his Love, saw the farmer's face turn up.
As He sent down his angel, named Rain.