For every river flowing free
There is a desert with a tree.
Unknown waters make it green,
Mighty rivers, never seen.
Deep within the dry, parched earth,
Roots run deep beneath the dearth.
Though the sky suspends its rain,
Sun beats down its scorching pain ,
Though none other blooms in sight,
Nothing robs it of its might.
It knows sources only few
Have known, afresh and new .
It has found the secret place,
Cooling streams, refreshing grace.
God speaks from that one lonesome tree
“Come to the stream, come unto me.”
God’s sentinel in deserts grim.
Drink from the stream that flows from Him.
© 1991, 2006, Thomas B. Sims, All Rights Reserved