like a parade of beauty
with trumpets, flutes and horns
dancers making sweet song
with truth. by truth. to truth.
a parade that cascades down city streets
illuminating each dark alley with its song
and I, curious but timid,
tired
lag behind
watching
wishing to be swept up in the jubilee
but fearing surrender
judging the masses, skeptical of their free praise
Oh! But send forth your light and your truth!
let them lead me
let them bring me to your holy hill
(and can it be that you have a home, a place for me?)
and to your dwelling
where I might find rest for my soul
weary and worn
but your light is warm and true
strength for the most faded and lost spirit
and so the ebb and flow of neighbors, known and unknown
sweep me along with the rolling crowd
like a tide coming in
the voices and music shimmer in a high canopy
caught
in the bright moonlight
home.
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