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A Chorus

 Over the surging tides and the mountain kingdoms,
Over the pastoral valleys and the meadows,
Over the cities with their factory darkness,
Over the lands where peace is still a power,
Over all these and all this planet carries
A power broods, invisible monarch, a stranger
To some, but by many trusted.
Man's a believer Until corrupted.
This huge trusted power Is spirit.
He moves in the muscle of the world, In continual creation.
He burns the tides, he shines From the matchless skies.
He is the day's surrender.
Recognize him in the eye of the angry tiger, In the sign of a child stepping at last into sleep, In whatever touches, graces and confesses, In hopes fulfilled or forgotten, in promises Kept, in the resignation of old men - This spirit, this power, this holder together of space Is about, is aware, is working in your breathing.
But most he is the need that shows in hunger And in the tears shed in the lonely fastness.
And in sorrow after anger.

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