Winter Hymn
(Rich Mullins)
Who froze over the windows to wonderland? I used to see through them into my dreams.
And, who has stolen the fortunes of yesterdays...the hide-n-seeks and Simon Says?
Patch up your jeans.
And, who has taken the Winter Queen’s wedding clothes...the dress November snows for His bride?
And, where are the Herald geese singing of Fall again across an October plain?
Have they all died?
And, they’re selling my world piece by piece; and, I wish to my soul that I didn’t have to see it.
I wish I had wings so that I could fly away. But, they say when you’re an old man you’ll lie down
And die someday.
And, when it all has been said, there’ll be nothing left to say.
Forgive me, my God...I think I felt You.
And, they said that I couldn’t...that if I could that I shouldn’t...but I think I did.
I hope there’s room within Your graces to forgive me for thinking feelings are important.
And, that when You died it was for more than what’s inside my head.
And, I’ve got it all...though it’s not all together.
And the parts are all scrambled in a mind out of order.
Down the bone-white hallways where hangs memory’s pictures
Echo the empty sounds...and like burning grass wither away.
And when it all has been said, there’ll be nothing left to say.
Forgive me, my God. I know I felt You.
And, they said that I couldn’t...and, if I could that I shouldn’t...but I think I did.
I hope that there’s room within your graces to forgive me for thinking feelings are important.
And, that when You died it was for more than just what’s inside this boy’s head.
And, like a laughing light that dances in the diamond;
And, like the starllight that pierces the darkness in the evening.
Like the smoke-ringed kaleidoscope that changes in slow motion...
Life still eludes me like light sliding on the oceans’ slippery waves.
And, when it all has been said, there’ll be nothing left to say.
And, I’m drawing these words from a well that’s so nearly dry
A thirsty man would surely die in need of a drink.
Where once was life, there’s a graveyard of memories...
The immobile energies of paper ... paper and ink.
©richmullinsongs
