We, this people on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through causal space.
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns,
To a destination, where all signs tell us,
It is possible and imperative that we discover,
A brave and startling truth.
And when we come to it.
To the day of peacemaking
When we realease our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And face sooted wth scorn are scrubbed cleand
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign lands
when the rapacious storming of churches
The screaming racket in the temples hav ceased
When the pennants are wavin gaily
When the banners of the world tramble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it.
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged my walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfoumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it.
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Not the Garden of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled in delicious color
By western sunsets
Not the Danube flowing in its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the rising sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it.
We, this people, on this minscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blad, the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cantankerous words
Which challenge our existance
Yet out of those same mouths
Can come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falter in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, lifeis sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
When we come to it.
We, this people, on this wayward floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely with out sanctimonious piety
And without crippling fear
When we come to it.
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonders of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
Traveling through causal space.
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns,
To a destination, where all signs tell us,
It is possible and imperative that we discover,
A brave and startling truth.
And when we come to it.
To the day of peacemaking
When we realease our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And face sooted wth scorn are scrubbed cleand
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign lands
when the rapacious storming of churches
The screaming racket in the temples hav ceased
When the pennants are wavin gaily
When the banners of the world tramble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it.
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged my walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfoumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it.
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Not the Garden of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled in delicious color
By western sunsets
Not the Danube flowing in its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the rising sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it.
We, this people, on this minscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blad, the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cantankerous words
Which challenge our existance
Yet out of those same mouths
Can come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falter in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, lifeis sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
When we come to it.
We, this people, on this wayward floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely with out sanctimonious piety
And without crippling fear
When we come to it.
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonders of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
