Sara Messenger © 1992
He appeared in the beat of a drum
He appeared in the guitarist’s strum
He appeared in each note that was sung
He appeared in his own chosen tongue
Then he spoke as if notes became words
Pure and clear, and I finally heard:
I’ve sent word, not with rabbis or priets
But with those who are cantors of peace
And a voice said out loud
You can pick them out in a crowd
When in song many voices lift
You will know them by their gifts
By their gifts
He don’t care if you consult the cards
No, She don’t care if you study the stars
He don’t care if you read it in palms
She don’t care if you recite the psalms
He don’t care how you find
That light that some people call divine
If you’re searching with your heart and mind
He loves applause for His designs
They’re His designs
She don’t care if you worship the sun
He don’t care, think Him plural or one
They don’t care, call Them Allah or God
They don’t care, think Them even or odd
They just want to make it clear
There is no devil and no hell to fear
Even evil is in the plan
The dark is just His other hand
Her other hand
