And Thus We All Are

No Matter What We Are, And What We Sing, Time Finds A Withered Leaf In Every Laurel

Are We No Greater Than The Noise We Make Along One Blind Atomic Pilgrimage Whereon By Crass Chance Billeted We Go Because Our Brains And Bones And Cartilage Will Have It So?

Ah, When Shall Come Love's Courage To Be Strong! Tell Me, O Lord--tell Me, O Lord, How Long Are We To Keep Christ Writhing On The Cross!

I Don't Say What God Is, But A Name That Somehow Answers Us When We Are Driven To Feel And Think How Little We Have To Do With What We Are.

For Through It All--above, Beyond It All-- I Know The Far-sent Message Of The Years, I Feel The Coming Glory Of The Light.