Wild, the winds blow
the night shows it whipping the trees
As if in protest, but truly in reveling.

Wild, untamed, the mountains shout it
with thunder and with falling snow.
Beautiful and dangerous, wonderful and whispering.

Wild and seen in the deeps, the blackest place where
pain and terrible things can bewilder
The light speaks with silence and illuminates.

Wild, it is He, working through His creation,
His people, His universe and microcosm, ignored and misunderstood
He bellows and murmurs low.

Holy and fierce in protection, gentle and peaceful
never abandoning, never counterfeit, always enfolding,
surrounding, guarding - a father.

Holy, it is He, true and without measure, wild and
zealous with love, taking the darkness of
us, and luminescing into the way.