Sing a song of a city, built by many hands, That rises over fields and streams, In many different lands. It is a song of buildings, its theatres and its shops, The throbbing of its constant life, A life that never stops. In the streets of cities, with architecture grand, You marvel at the many things Built by the hand of man. Sing a song of mountains, some with snow capped peaks, Their majesty and beauty, Their ruggedness so steep. They sing a tune of windsong, a song both fierce and soft They sing the song of eagle, Who soars the slopes aloft. And in the mountain ranges, which echoes as you plod, You marvel at their majesty, Built by the hand of God. Sing a song of rivers, that wind down to the sea. That murmur softly in their banks Or roar so mightily. It is a song of Willow, and of the River Gum. That sigh so softly in the breeze And glitter in the sun. As it winds along its way, life’s gift it gives the land So follow rivers as they go Guided by God’s hand. Sing a song of farmlands, its chequered brown and green, And here you see the hand of man His constant toil is seen. He feeds the teeming cities, the furrow straight he ploughs A working song of husbandry Midst corn and crops and cows. So sing a song of nature, the farmers’ friend and foe. That rewards them and chastises them. And taught them all they know. Sing a song of forests, the mighty Pine and Oak The Cedars and the Beeches That spread their grey green cloak. They whisper of survival, they help our planet breathe. And give up their green secrets, And timbers we can reave. The screaming song of chainsaws that echo through the glen, Has scarred our great green forests, Fire has murdered them. So sing a song of tragedy, else it becomes a dirge. To show a great mistake, The shrinking forests’ verge. Sing a song of the ocean, a spume flung happy song Of wind tossed waves and merriment That drives our ship along. Or sing a song of power, that crashes on the shore. Of sun born winds and hurricanes That spawn within its maw. Then sing a song of heroes, wave tossed in their small craft Who sailed across to find new lands, Its mighty bosom vast. Sing a song of cumulus, of nimbus and its rain, That falls on thirsty land - It comes to life again. When the song sings thunder, flashes light the sky, Answer that song gratefully, A home to keep you dry. Listen to the thunder, God’s own song of course, See the grass grow greener That feeds both beast and horse. Sing a song of the planet, round the sun it goes, It turns its face once daily, To that bright star it knows. Then sing a little moonsong, The governess of tides, And sing of how she made the spring When once she did collide. Then marvel at the universe, and at the Milky Way. Think of mans’ great loneliness As this he does survey. Sing Earthsong with rapture, your voices raised on high, And sing Earthsong in unison God gives the reason why. It matters not what tongue you sing, It matters not your hue, As on this tiny globe you cling, Your Gods will answer you. David Henry. 24/1/98 - 17/10/01.
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