A single grain of wheat lives only for its day,
hugs closely to itself the husk of time's decay;
The grain that's buried deep, though dying in the earth
will generate new life, bring rising hope to birth.
This grain will spend itself, its ego asks no price;
the wheat becomes the bread of love and sacrifice.
And where this bread will rise, where loaves are multiplied,
becomes a place of joy with hungers satisfied.
The grain of goodness grows through thistle, weed and thorn,
it chooses to see God in every creature born.
It rises up through death, its field is want and war,
the wheat is for the world to feed its soul once more.