When Yahweh speaks and all the sky goes white,

the trees stand, silhouetted in the glow;

shadows melt away, replaced by snow;

and darkness turns to paper in the night.

When Yahweh opens up His storehouse door,

the sifted shafts of slanting water spears

hit the ground like spiral strands of years

that mark the aged eons of the war.

And thunder-rumbles deep inside the heart

make anxious awe the resident in chief

and for a moment drive away the thief

with sounds that tear autonomy apart.

And with the rain, as tears of holy grief,

Yahweh blesses sinners with His art.

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