Beneath the endless heavens wide,
Where stars in silent orbits glide,
The gods in splendor weave their light,
Their whispers turning day from night.
They carve the mountains, paint the seas,
In every bloom, in every breeze.
Their breath ignites the newborn flame,
Yet tenderly, they speak our name.
In thunder's roar, in ocean’s rise,
Their power shakes the very skies.
But in the quiet of a tear,
Their love draws closer, ever near.
With hands unseen, they lift the dust,
And shape our hearts with gentle trust.
Their strength, a pulse in every stone,
Yet love is what they make their throne.
No temple vast can hold their grace,
For it is found in every place—
In every shadow, spark, and song,
Their glory carries us along.
For though their might commands the storm,
In love, we find our true reform.
They bend to catch our smallest plea,
And in the
ir arms, we’re always free.