Keeping it

The wind shoots by, it's all alive,
and everywhere around,
the trees, the skies, have realized.
They echo and resound,

This note, this gift, this silent thought
of something greater still;
a power so magnificent,
the winds obey His will.

And someone still is listening,
still climbing up this hill,
and keeping it.

The clouds are coming, swiftly flying
on wings of angels, wings of gold.
The thunder's drumming;
rain is singing, music to behold.

The song that's playing, joy it's bringing,
the trees all dance and bend and fold,
their rhythmic swaying still displaying,
things unknown, untold.

And so, someone is climbing
and is singing with this song of God,
and keeping it.

On clear warm days, on starlit nights,
when life is all so calm, so bright,
through ice and fire, through rain and snow,
through storms a man should never know.

Though his own world will bend and change,
beneath his feet and break away,
though nothing else remains with him,
or keeps itself the same,

A single man is climbing still,
will still be list'ning as it trills,
will still be hearing, there, God's Will,
and keeping it.