We pass them, majestic;
Towering above everything near,
Hardly noting their existence,
Despite their enormity.
They stand for years,
More than a century witness,
To seasons and change,
Older than memory.
They spring from tiny seed,
That floats for miles on a breath of breeze,
Lighter than a wish, delicate as hope,
Cast out to abide in faith and trust.
Yet they speak, clear and sure,
The quite sound of disturbed surf,
Or of a great storm far off, just now within hearing,
While a thousand hands are waving, clapping, joyous.
But pray hear, God speaks from trees.
Towering above everything near,
Hardly noting their existence,
Despite their enormity.
They stand for years,
More than a century witness,
To seasons and change,
Older than memory.
They spring from tiny seed,
That floats for miles on a breath of breeze,
Lighter than a wish, delicate as hope,
Cast out to abide in faith and trust.
Yet they speak, clear and sure,
The quite sound of disturbed surf,
Or of a great storm far off, just now within hearing,
While a thousand hands are waving, clapping, joyous.
But pray hear, God speaks from trees.
