The universe has rhythms
To rock itself to sleep;
Praying Jews at nightfall,
In front of stony walls;
A slow-circling hawk
By a fortress deep,
And a dozing child
Where a woman weeps.

The universe has secrets
It touch with guilty hands;
Buried unmarked grave,
Of one who was not saved;
A war to break at morning,
When death will have his day,
Words of peace on dying lips
They can never say.