YOUR BUSH _ THE CHURCH

 

A thought has often strived in me as I've eyed cathedrals tall

These manmade mounds of building blocks don't house my God at all

He dwells in airy canyons, on plains, on hills, on seas

His voice I hear, though not from choirs, but drifting in the breeze

He gave us all things beautiful, all creatures great and small

Why try to lock him in a church, a temple or a hall?

Why try to teach of sins, now gone by Christ upon the cross

Just look towards the bush path to see his dreadful loss.

His body is a river gum, the branches are his limbs

His face is in the rising sun and sunset as day dims.

His fingers are the blades of grass, His locks the cloud strewn skies

And pools and lakes and billabongs must surely be his eyes.

The rivers, creeks and streams supply his lifeblood to the land

Now feel his heartbeat, feel his strength, throughout the mountains grand

His hands are rocks, his toes are roots, and the flowers are his smile.

He moves with grace in bird and beast, so walk with him awhile.

I hear his word in whispering winds, his song on sand swept beach

Though rarely moved by what I hear from Preachers as they Preach

His sound is everywhere so sweet, the creaking of a bough

The crickets, dogs and warbling frogs, I hear them singing now.

I need no artist painting of what they think is his face

I want no Bible, no prayer book; I'll eat and not say grace

Yet I walk with him and feel his touch, as gentle as I slumber

His lightening thrills me in the night, I revel in his thunder

Why study books and learn the tunes? To worship, not to ponder?

His Nature's everywhere to touch, so worship as you wander

His breath is in the air you breathe, his heartbeat with your feet

You kiss him when you sip the stream; you hug him as you eat.

I don't blaspheme; I only know my God is nearer now

Than when I tried to meet him through your thee and thy and thou

So throw your money on the plate Support the holy C

Or stroll along the old bush track and share my God with me