In the tiniest of hands we find strength.

In The Whisper Of The Wind, we hear God.

Things are not as they appear,

With the God that I hold dear.

In the Still of the Night,

He speaks to me

Not in white noise of media and TV.

We hear too much but don't listen

and miss what it really means to be.

As a nation we stopped believing in Him

But He never stopped believing in us.

As individuals we gave up on Him; but

He never gave up on us.

We complain and we fuss

But don't pay attention much

to His all important word.

Bring back the tiny hands

and the quiet whisper in the Wind.

Place Him foremost in our hearts

and reorder Him back in our land.

Take heed of Bethlehem

and the still that was that Silent Night

Where love began but didn't end.

This is what should be in our sight.

Peggy Porter-Quinlan

Warwick