And the wrens have returned to their nesting,
In the hollow of the oak,
Where his heart once had been,
And he lifts up his arms in a blessing,
For being born again.
And the streams are all swollen with winter,
Winter unfrozen, and free to run away now.
And I’m amazed when I remember
Who it was that built this house
And with the rocks I cry out,
Be praised for all your tenderness
By these works of your hands,
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless
And bring to life your lands,
Look down upon this winter wheat
And be glad that you have made,
Blue for the sky and the color green,
That fills these fields with praise.