Spirit of God in the clear running water
Blowing to greatness the trees on the hill.
Spirit of God in the finger of morning:
Fill the earth, bring it to birth, and blow
where you will. Blow, blow, blow till I be
but the breath of the Spirit blowing in me.
Down in the meadow the willows are
moaning, sheep in the pastureland
cannot lie still. Spirit of God, creation is
groaning:
I saw the scar of a year that lay dying
Heard the lament of a lone
whirlpoorwill. Spirit of God, see that
cloud crying:
Spirit of God every man’s heart is lonely
Watching and waiting and hungry until
Spirit of God, man longs that you only
Fulfill the earth, bring it to birth, and blow
where you will. Blow, blow, blow till I be
but the breath of the Spirit blowing in me
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