Hymnal
The faith is sought in walls of stone,
In dusty books, in creeds alone,
While outside waits the open air,
A truth too simple to compare.
The pews abound with heads bowed low,
Yet miss the sermon in the snow,
The rustling leaves, the storm’s embrace,
The way the wild reveals her grace.
For all we chase in lofty halls,
Is found in nature’s whispered calls—
But captured by factitious ways,
We lose the light of endless days.
The forests reach like chapel spires,
Their branches lit with autumn fires.
A path winds through the woods alone,
A place of prayer not set in stone.
No priest but wind, no hymn but leaves,
The earth’s old truths the heart receives.
In quiet steps through meadow's green,
I find the faith that lies unseen.
For in the silence, more is said
Than books or prophets long since dead—
A wisdom deep, a voice so grand,
That we can only hope to understand.