In the tiniest of hands we find strength. In The Whisper Of The Wind, we hear God. Things are not as they appear, With the God that I hold dear. In the Still of the Night, He speaks to me Not in white noise of media and TV. We hear too much but don't
This item is available in full to subscribers.
We have recently launched a new and improved website. To continue reading, you will need to either log into your subscriber account, or purchase a new subscription.
If you are a current print subscriber, you can set up a free website account by clicking here.
Otherwise, click here to view your options for subscribing.
Please log in to continue |
|
In the tiniest of hands we find strength.
In The Whisper Of The Wind, we hear God.
Things are not as they appear,
With the God that I hold dear.
In the Still of the Night,
He speaks to me
Not in white noise of media and TV.
We hear too much but don't listen
and miss what it really means to be.
As a nation we stopped believing in Him
But He never stopped believing in us.
As individuals we gave up on Him; but
He never gave up on us.
We complain and we fuss
But don't pay attention much
to His all important word.
Bring back the tiny hands
and the quiet whisper in the Wind.
Place Him foremost in our hearts
and reorder Him back in our land.
Take heed of Bethlehem
and the still that was that Silent Night
Where love began but didn't end.
This is what should be in our sight.
Peggy Porter-Quinlan
Warwick
Comments
No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here