From The Chapel On The Hill
If we all sit quietly and close our eyes and hold our breath...
Maybe the hand of God will slip silently out of the Sun and,
Giving us undeniable evidence that he does indeed exist,
Redirect us.
Maybe we'll find love,
And in the shadowy streets
Where the infant flower cracks the loveless concrete
We shall push on through--
One thousand individual strands of melody,
For two thousand ears
And ten thousand fingers
To weave into harmony.
And on your wedding day
May every sonnet ever sung
Be cradled by the chorus
Of ten thousand voices strong.
In that sweet evening let us hear the song
Which transforms the wicked pains of youth
And unrequited love
Into boundless charity.
Maybe the hand of God will slip silently out of the Sun and,
Giving us undeniable evidence that he does indeed exist,
Redirect us.
Maybe we'll find love,
And in the shadowy streets
Where the infant flower cracks the loveless concrete
We shall push on through--
One thousand individual strands of melody,
For two thousand ears
And ten thousand fingers
To weave into harmony.
And on your wedding day
May every sonnet ever sung
Be cradled by the chorus
Of ten thousand voices strong.
In that sweet evening let us hear the song
Which transforms the wicked pains of youth
And unrequited love
Into boundless charity.