A Sunday Doxology
Praise to the Creator of all—
You fill the skies with birds that sing
and swoop and dive and flit and swim,
but can’t sow or reap or build barns
yet feast on abundant goodness
because you care for each of them.
Of how much more value are we
who walk and work and till the ground,
we who live and move and have breath
because you breathed in us your life,
and ever mindful of us, you
set eternity in our hearts
that we might ever sing your praise
and feast at your table of grace.
The wind swept in all gusty and blustery
and trees danced while snow deliquesced
and puddles stretched while ditches ran
and the birds, the whimsical birds,
flapped, played acrobat
I savour their giddy delight.
To the God who makes
resplendent white swans navigate
across skies cerulean blue,
soft grey collared doves preen and coo
in trees rough umber-brown,
rusty-yellow pine grosbeaks dress
in feathers impossibly delicate,
be all glory and majesty, praise and honour.