A worthy praise drifts ceaseless to the heights,
Good glory to the highest heights!
For He has smote our bonds,
But more, our tongues He loosed,
That we would join the dawn chorus -
Join the whispers of the dusk to praise,
With angels pour out beauty beyond sound.

A pseudo-holiday,
Lurks in rippling outer blue,
Casting shadows in open water,
From the expanse I see first its teeth,
Yet then a present in its bite,
Promises of a tussle with reason,
With empirical data sprints and hurdles,
With models of the world and joust,
With proofs and complex facts a toss.

Rigid rhythms breed discipline,
And teach me to pause and reflect,
Through rolling words in native tongue,
That speak of the mundane and significant,
And offer praises to the living one,
Who's paid for my heart and shall have my mind and body too.