the rest is footnotes

There is an ancient song,

that speaks of shattered earth,
of mountains swallowed whole by
foaming, white-teethed mouths of rabid seas,

that speaks of dark days,

crumbling,
of earth’s foundations
quaking fearful underfoot.

But the refrain is sweet,
and deep, and gentle.
His voice, his voice, his voice.

He lifts his voice –
amidst the roar
of fear and fall –
He lifts his voice –
amidst the roar
and at his call
all is not put back
neatly in its proper place,
as if it had not seen

that all-surpassing face,
all is not as it had been
as it was planned,
unaltered by this
all-sufficient hand –
He lifts his voice –
amidst the roar
of fear and fall
amidst the roar
and at his call –
the whole earth melts.

God is God;
the rest is footnotes.

And now I must remember this old song,
Surrounded as I am by bustle and by throng,
By stress and pace and all that is not peace;
remember Who it is that lies beneath.

Beneath, above, before and beyond,
exalted before this small life had begun.
And know that even now I have the chance –
right here
amidst the roar
on quaking ground –
to hear that voice, and learn to dance.