Grace and Peace to you.
O Greening God, Spring be your praise!
Praise be these warming, gentle days,
the evening light that lingers more
each day beside her lover’s door,
the silent, ice-bound brook’s release
to sing its melody of peace,
and snow-bowed limbs, now free, that lift
their hands to thank you for the gift.
The lines of geese, mile after mile,
are monks processing up the aisle
toward the altar of their nest
while chanting psalms that we are blessed.
Your praise be sap in buds and roots,
the courage of the small green shoots,
the breeze from warmer bosoms drawn,
the songs of birds that thread the dawn.
O God of budding, birthing things,
all rising up your glory sings—
all bugs that hatch, all smells that waft,
all thawing, swelling, turning soft:
this is your praise, and may it be
as in the woods, so clear in me.
Emerge in me, O Lord, like spring,
that I may be the hymn you sing.
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes