Lyrics
MEDITATION.
Poem by Elizabeth Kirschner (b. 1955)
Out of myself, I was looking for God
in silken streams the moon was told
where I bent down in ancient night
over my people, my death, my soul.
I think I haunt the hills around.
I think God loves the blackest sound,
the cry, the wind, the world's low whine,
God is alone where we abound.
Though we play at war up 'til the end
his love blazes into pain and back again
when deeply down and down we go
embalmed in his sweet amen.
Now we are lost, we sing to thee
joy may wander but never leave.
Now we are dead, we rise and praise,
permit us---just once!---your glory.
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