When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of the holydays begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild nations,
To bring peace among
brothers and sisters,
To make music in the heart.
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of the holydays begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild nations,
To bring peace among
brothers and sisters,
To make music in the heart.
Even as we bid farewell to the old order and usher in the new, most things remain the same. The opposites of love and hate continue to battle everyday as human history is written and re-written, every moment, in the blood of the fallen warriors. A history that weaves together the joys of the victor and the ignominy of the vanquished and all else in between, producing a garment of many hues that relates the pain of the living and the beauty of life ... the music in our hearts.
Its still snowing and we have a long grey winter ahead, before the varied hues of spring take over.
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