A whisper in the wind,
Or a golden evening glow.
A sweet bright morning song,
Or a falcon flying low.
Creation speaks its beauty,
Invites the heart of man,
To join it in its duty,
Praise the great "I AM".

A whisper in the wind,
Or a tow'ring mountain's might.
A gently coursing river,
Or a brilliant starlit night.
God's glory will be sung,
For now and evermore,
So join the endless chorus,
"Holy is the LORD".

A whisper like the wind,
I hear it in my heart.
This is the beginning,
A merely humble start.
The verge of all forever,
When time no longer is,
Unimaginable splendor,
My mind grows faints at this.

A whisper in the Wind,
How it made my eyes to see,
The story of Creation,
The Makers majesty.
I now will seek to find,
The heart of God's great love.
For if by it was wonder,
Surely alone it's enough.

A million miles from house,
Still I am found at home.
For a place is merely space,
Where one can still be alone.
A home is something more,
Made with love and care not wood.
Based on faithfulness,
Designed by God as good.
I see in fleeting life,
An echo of my home.
A family called church,
Those whom are God's own.
And as great as this echo is,
Still more is left to see.
This family is great,
Full of saints of history.
They tell of righteous love,
Of joy forevermore,
I listen to their tale,
And hope for whats in store.
I hear from them its glorious,
Where worship will not cease,
Where sorrows are no more,
And there is endless peace.
Where the lion will lay with lamb,
Where every good things dwells,
And the source of all this good,
Overflows like a bursting well.
And as I set my heart,
On this land yet far away,
I feel my hope renewed,
That there I'll be someday.
But for now I will wait,
On this passing world I know,
For His coming is sure,
And with Him comes my home.

Standing tall, a million soldiers in a field.
Bowing in the breeze to which they yield.
Here one day and gone the next.
With each gust your stalks are flexed.
Growing proud, green, strong and spritely.
Dancing on the breeze ever so lightly.
Come then the drought, dry up the rain.
Green to brown, the first to fall is slain.
Felled by the wind, starved of supply,
Around him others fall, in the same way die.
Then passes months and spring rounds the bend.
Soon the summer rains will bring drought to an end.
As water falls on the soldiers again,
Only then life springs from lifeless pain.
Soon the secret soldiers break the ground, seen.
Still yet small but lively and green.
A perfect example of our lives that quickly pass,
Or maybe the story of the life of grass?