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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Songs of Praise and Worship</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">As a child, I would stand<br>With the other children.<br>We would sing songs of praise<br>And worship—God's kingdom.<br>The words pulled at our young, <br>Temporal, pure spirits—<br>Innocent spheres of soul<br>That had yet to mature.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We would bow our small heads, <br>Close our hands and say prayers.<br>The preacher would instruct<br>And show us what to say.<br>We didn't understand<br>Biblical passages and<br>We didn't comprehend<br>What all God's stories meant, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Or at least I couldn't—<br>Though I tried and longed to.<br>The other children would<br>Close their eyes, outstretching<br>The soft palms of their hands<br>And feel God's presence in<br>Their stubby fingertips<br>As if they could reach Him.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They would cry. Their bodies<br>Would rock and move like some<br>Divine rhythm could quake<br>The floor where we all stood.<br>They would smile, enraptured<br>And captured by the songs—<br>Dancing with the angels.<br>Three minutes with God's wings.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Holiness percolated<br>Inside them. Not in me.<br>They simmered in God's warmth<br>While I was unheated.<br>The fires that burned in them<br>Refused to spark in me.<br>My spirit was tepid—<br>Still against the hot pan.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When the songs had finished, <br>They would tremble and shake, <br>The ground lifting beneath<br>Them, if just for one song.<br>When they closed their clear eyes, <br>They could see their heaven.<br>When I did the same thing, <br>I saw my dark eyelids.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Tim+Stensloff">Tim Stensloff</a></strong></div>