They Sing Their Song Poem by Jesse Fast

There’s a swelling chorus rising,
From the breath of humankind.
There are tunes that keep on ringing,
Ever from the earthly, finite mind.

There’s a harmony supreme,
From the air and earth and sky.
There are tones that make us dream,
As time and change do pass us by.

There are lonesome, far off hills,
That murmur in the flowing winds.
There’s a valley where a bird trills,
And the air with sweetness blends.

There are mighty marching bands,
With raucous sounds of manly greatness.
There are cymbals played by earthly hands,
And it falls on us; a strain of emptiness.

There's a Master writer of music free,
And He can make the Heavens ring.
There's a fountain flowing in me!
And so, I cannot help but sing...