within the distant thunder, I hear the Lord at work,
a blacksmith with his mighty arm
bringing iron upon the anvil,
forging in the fire of time
all his dreams and possibilities
into flesh and blood realities.
beyond the veil of falling waters, I see the Lord at work,
a watercolor artist creating in gently flowing washes
of sky-filled blues and earthy browns,
painting in these holy hues
all the wonders of what could be,
for all the souls like you and me.
in the gentle winds across the plains, I hear the Lord at work,
an old man whistling an olden hymn,
as he travels down a homeward lane,
closing ever closer the sad and heartfelt distance,
turning all the wistful yearning
into long lost loves returning.
not, not that far away, not that far away at all,
I can hear the angels laughing,
I can hear them all at play,
as they prepare for my tomorrow,
that new and wondrous Day.
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