Hymn to Humanity
A song close to the heart; meant to be sung
Sung like a hymn by the mother,
On that one bright Christmas eve.
Am I worthy of redemption?
Do the trees
Have a place for me?
Does the sparrow sing of sorrow?
Do the bees hum of spring?
Will the river wash away
all what is left of me?
They sing “joy to the world,”
but what joy can there be?
When the young no longer giggle,
and a laugh, a memory—
Oh what a world,
but ours nonetheless.
A world where mercy falters,
and the weary seldom rest.
Where the innocent grow quiet,
and the strong forget their song.
Where the choir keeps on singing,
even though the notes feel wrong.
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