Liturgy

Now we yearn for the ritual telling
A story older than hearing can say
Resonant half-song of hopes annealing
In the furnace blast of a tortured day

Hear it, own it, seized by recognition
As it arches toward the ear of heaven
The ancient voice, a primeval vision
From the throat of all creation given

Composing chaos from the phrases rote
Rising, including all under its span
Gathering every disconnected note into one
Making a new song of man

© 1996, Sanford C. Shugart

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