The soaring bird, in the azure sky, Is master of his fate. His rising and his dipping buy For him, his dinner plate. We look with envy at his ease In swooping to his prey, A rich reward for him to seize, His hunger to allay. Hungry, too, we also soar, On draughts of heated air, Seeking truth and nothing more, Oft' find the cupboard bare. If the mind has limits, it would not be strange That the whole of truth is beyond its range.
Truth limits the mind to things as they are.
Than the mind, if it has limits, is able to see. Our Creator speaks Birds' song and thunder, voices of God, Bring symphony to His works of creation. Babbling brooks and fretting infants Tell of His sharing with all. No mystery in having two values, When seen as the voices of God. Each aims to spare the other pain, But suffers loss instead of gain, Because love is sharing.