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Summer1
By Geerhardus Vos Translated by Daniel Ragusa
Though countless signs around me brim
that he the land doth greet,
how shall I ever find him
or where his
Autumn1 By Geerhardus Vos Translated by Daniel Ragusa Still lingers golden autumn, still stand harvest colors,
Ripening in field, still roams through woods and gardens
A lovely postlude
I had the privilege of participating in a panel discussion on Danny Olinger’s excellent biography of Geerhardus Vos at the Presbyterian Scholars Conference, held at Harbor House, Wheaton College, on
Winter’s Death[1] by Geerhardus Vos
Here lies the Winter hated,
Goliath-like prostrated,
Whom David’s stone laid low.
Recovered from earth’s chillness,
Spring uses the first stillness
To put left-over illness
Beneath the thin-grown snow. His efforts
