Praise #12, I sing praises to the living God

I sing praises to the living God

Yea – our hands flail upwards as Spirit antennae

Beaming cheers upon Your legions of ear angels

God hath walked this dire earth; filling sandals

Even the impossibly pious

Were not fit loose, O Lord,

And what about that Way?

 

See Ye fit to buzz tiny thinglets about, removing

The unseen predators in our midst

It is proper for us to be lost when we begin

Screaming incognito in the fitful dark

A wandering soul, darting briefly in our light

Out there, amid the busy wilderness

Lowing by the pews of unknown thickets

 

Chance had happened on our drabbest day

An unkind gesture, a reflex against the wall

Then a trickle of frivolous remembering

Pleading to you as a tidal whisper

Come, he says, you won’t be frightened

It is right to go on, with a new pair of winglets

Thou shalt breathe freely today