Oh, Lord, your play, a wondrous sight,
Oh, Lord, your play, in darkest night,
Oh, Lord, your play, with all its light,
Oh, Lord, your play.
Oh, what a play.
Some candles burn, without a wick,
Some burn, though oil they lack and quick,
Oh, Lord, your play, a mystic trick.
You bloom fair flowers, a vibrant show,
But thorns you plant, where shadows grow.
You scent the musk, with hidden glow,
But lack of radiance, soft and low.
What is the hue, what is the whole?
Oh, Lord, your play, to touch the soul,
Oh, what a play.
The wealthy gleam, in colors bright,
The wealthy gleam, in pure delight,
The poor man's form, obscured from sight?
The poor man's state, in endless night?
The rich man feasts, the beggar sighs,
One shade, one sun, before our eyes.
This life's a cage, a shadowed cell,
Oh, Lord, your play, a haunting spell,
Oh, what a play.
Some hoard their gold, a shining grace,
Some yearn for crumbs, in time and space,
Where drink is scarce, they search the place,
Where clouds pour down, a watery chase.
A barren vine, in desert's sway,
Oh, Lord, your play, come what may,
Oh, Lord, your play.
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