As the wind riddles through the leaves,
in autumn's glory, Lord, I see
a parable of paradox,
of life and death, of death and glory.
You rain on earth and reign in heav'n
like fallen leaves and foliage:
Immanent God! O God Transcendent!
Paint Yourself across the hills
as amber folded up in fire--
o'er forest and the trees--
that as we hear creation groaning
we find solace in your Spirit's breeze.
