My Church

Shining silver, the river flows.
Tall and straight, the evergreen grows.
Life flows seaward, fresh into salt.
The forest robes the mountain's fault.
Thus God's great work unfolds as we,
in awe, observe the mystery.

Seek not for God in spires tall
or hallowed, old cathedral hall
if, in your heart, you know he dwells
in woodland hills and mountain dells.
For, though He is omnipresent,
He also knows our heart's intent.

Thus when I need to hear His voice
I leave behind the choral noise
and seek the hush of forest dreams,
the water songs of mountain streams.
And on the rush of beating wing
I hear the songs the Angels sing.