The chirping birds frame trees in sound,
Now here we stand when Grace abound,
In these I see a glory woven,
My purchase at the seat of God,
His body taut on wood and shame,
Divisions broken at His name,
I see the thick oil painterly clouds,
It's beauty now to me so rich,
For all is mine for I am His,
Now He is mine, what more is this?

Talk the truth,
And people seem to look away,
Others gaze into your eyes,
Others seem to sway between,
But all in all the land is firm,
Under your feet and mine and the other's,
And as we talk we both seem to know:
Though confusion obscures the truest thoughts,
We stand on common ground to speak.