The cold is hungry out,
So starved on empty skies,
And as the clarity of bitten glass,
We see the open realms of blue.
Now here we are my friend,
To gaze upon the spires,
To sip and talk our fill of all the world,
To find our fitting place while here.

With overdrawn strength, by grace we stand,
Though feeble legs belie, our hope is poorly put in legs,
But better in a cross that marks,
The place of greatest comfort and distress,
That He who gives the wind to strength,
Would breathe one last, yet now!
More fully strength is named in Him, our strength.

O ancient ground of old,
You're sturdier than I can know,
I give you myself to mould,
I trust my faith You'll grow.