I looked up into the sky yesterday.
And saw the Face of God.
That face was ever changing.
Every shape and being,
Terrible and wonderful.
I begged for forgiveness for trying to speak at all,
Yet could neither keep from singing or shouting
About the tender Mystery.
Every form is Yours, O Lord.
Today I borrow language from an ancient tradition, but only now know what it means.
The people who first wrote music to the Lord
Must have had a similar
Hidden audience with This glory.
To write at all of Love and Longing
Is like trying to describe a cry
For that which is most Holy.
-- Whitney Logan
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