Oh, yes, those words fell upon no one
else's ears
Creating no lonely echo
Only softly on this heart of mine
Which revered the divine
and revelled in the sublime
Oh why is beauty such an illusive
creature
which we cannot capture
with
pen or brush or music
And why is truth such a lonely
animal
which we can portray
neither
in book nor in equation
Oh, Why should the grandeur of life be
cheapened
by my need to
show some other soul
that I am an
artisan?
I do not compose the music
I do not command the script
I do not convey the image
Almighty God is the hand
He who paints the rainbow
He who orchestrates the thunder
He who speaks in a still small voice
Inspires this soul of mine
It is I
who am so lazily
priviledged
to hear
It is I
who am so humbly abled as
his creature
to receive
I hope, not pray, but hope
that you know this, too
So that we may revel in gifts that are
ours
Oh, yes, the music is still music that I
hear
But when you hear with me
As we listen together
Just listen
I look deeply into your eyes and see
all that images would dimly convey
I feel your heart beat
with the rythym and sway
And we begin to dance
We hear the voices sing
The book of love opens
And we smiling, glowing, tumble in
Where no one can find us
On a high and loney hill
In the morning mist
Where the world stands still
And the hand of God touches
OUR SILENT HEARTS!
