I wrote this song after I had been singing in Multnomah County, Oregon. & many Portland Singers came down to San Carlos, California, for the All-California Sacred Harp Convention Convention. & afterwards to a new music reading at Mark Miller's house in Berkeley, which was the first time this song has been read thru. Only the first & last verses are in this mp3 of the reading. The first, third, & fifth verses are from Isaac Watts. The illumination on the score is by Pele. Download a pdf of the score here.
Fools never raise their thoughts so high
Like brutes they live, like brutes they die
Like grass they flourish till thy breath
Blasts them in everlasting, lasting death.
And congressmen who feign their faiths
Elected, spread the empty grace,
Like eggplants, poison till their fried,
They are forgotten past the last divide.
But I shall share a glorious part
When grace hath well refined my heart
And fresh supplies of joy are shed
Like holy oil, to cheer, to cheer my head.
All twelve dimensions will collapse!
Perceptions read omniscient maps,
My savior on Columbian soil
Will swap our peasant rags for garments royal.
Then I shall see & hear & know.
All I desired & wished below
And ev'ry pow'r find sweet employ
In that eternal world of, world of joy.