O sing unto the Lord a new song!
Escape the dirge that is so old and dull,
Sing new.
Listen for Life’s ever-present presto.
Do not sigh listless, missing every cue,
Sing new.
The fields are ripe to harvest,
Your field, too.
Like sharpened scythe, which cleaves the falling silk
(precisely rending falsehood’s featherweight claim),
Wield fearlessly your pitch and clef supreme
To rock lethargic night’s long largo-dream,
Sing new.
Truth’s lyrics tumble freely
Through thought acutely tuned.
Love’s law is musical direction true,
Sing new!
—Barbara Fay Wiese
