This afterburn of wonder effervesce,
Too briefly is as lost but dear I cling,
This thick immortal life so graciously invest,
Is home and making home in these oft wearied bones.

Light crackles hitch to rain,
They punctuate a crispened air,
And eve is freshly made anew,
Left with the marks of very God.

Sending now a heart to go,
Perhaps in the future vaguely,
To the peoples far and low,
Upon the foreign mountains lofty,
I'll join them in pursuit of heaven,
Its Kingdom drawn down from the sky,
But not by power or by might.

Beauty from ashes,
An act to which I stand to witness,
For hope is born in no purer flesh,
And new life sprung from more dead things,
Glory is perfected in this blessed gift,
Power in our weakness,
Wisdom in our folly,
And you place a pretty flower in the wake,
It seems to sway in peaceful pastures,
Calling Abba, Father to its place,

For now I hold your presence close,
In beauty and in truth:
The ashes gone.