For all your light shows
And all the right showings
For your crowds of baying, praising enthusiasts
For your stadium shaking thunderous bass
And ethereal wailings
Your many harmonies
And the thudding of the drums
Mirroring heartbeat syncopations
And a noise that would wake nations
From their slumber
There is the figure of one
within your number
Who stands with arms folded
He wasn't in the Thunder
Nor the earthquake
Nor was he any less in them
Whatever turf you take,
There is a man
In a bedroom somewhere
Who realises for the first time,
That The Son of God himself
Knew what it was
To fear God
For all the thunder
And what goes on under
For absence of the quake
His shoulders start to shake
Even to know him in perfect love
Is still to fear him.
Even the most intimate son
Revered him.
And this is the love
He has bestowed.
Now make some noise.
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