The Hands That Hold

We are little leaves upon the tree We never did control our tiny worlds The tree of life; what power, what mystery With metaphor, it’s easier to see Life is tender, see each leaf unfurl We are only leaves upon the tree Singing in the sun we seem to be Full of joy until the storm winds swirl The tree of life; what power, what mystery Extinguished candles smoke at Tenebrae We are blown to death however bold We are little leaves upon the tree Thus we sacrifice to God uncertainly Yet as the wars continue, we grow cold The tree of life; what power, what mystery Who has dropped us from the hands that hold? Who has stolen certainty untold? We are little leaves upon the tree The tree of life; what power, what mystery