God often comes as a little child
At least we think he does,
And after deep depression,
Like the weather turned quite mild.
He speaks to us,
And act upon His words,
And sense a great profundity
In all that is around,
The stillness and the balmy air,
The singing of the birds,
The snouts of first spring flowers
Protruding from the ground.
God often comes as a little child,
He has that great propensity,
And speaks to us aloud,
And shocks like electricity,
We sense Him all about,
And we can sometimes see His face
Behind some sunlit mass of cloud,
Before our eccentricity
Is quietly snuffed out.
We take great comfort in the thought
We're being quite conventional,
And feeling as we ought
When faced with this immensity
We act with an intentional
Subservience, a doing as we're taught.
A good example we would set
Till our small children must exert
A counteracting force of will,
And when God leaves us, we forget
To pray, to marvel and distil
The sum of peace we've known
In sudden moments when alone.
And tempers fray
Though we're alert
To all the evil of the day
We have not strength to fend it off
And madness is not far away