If by chance one hears
the tune
of nature and her spread,
Or tries to reach up to
the moon
and moonbeams on a web.
Then never will one rest,
it's sure,
within huge city walls.
Then never will one
condemn a shore
or mountains and their calls.
To see a tree rise up to God
or watch a spider weave.
And hear the growing of
the sod
or singing of the weed.
Then never will one rest
his head
and cover his eyes anymore,
Until the eyes and ears
are dead
and scent is gone forever more.

Have I forgotten the Lord, Jesus?
Have I forgotten the Lord, Jesus, has walked thru here?
Or has it been such a lengthy time that it is hard to remember?
Rose high His hand and smiled at me.
Lifted up His head and spoke to me.
Have I forgotten that the Lord, Jesus, is not so far away?
Or is it such a distance that it is hard for me to see?
Sat on a rock and touched my hand;
removed my youth and made me a man.
No, I have not forgotten all that.
The dust of time may antique it,
and the streamers of nations somehow alter it,
and the thundering sounds of progress hide it.
But I remember. |