He prays to a God he has never seen,
Whose Voice he has never heard,
Except in the laughter of a Child,
In the singing of a Bird.

His God lives - not up in the sky,
Not in some heaven apart,
Not some place distant from the world,
But right here in his heart.

His God is in the Roses red,
And in the morning Dew
That glistens on their petals, yes,
His God in in that, too.

How does he know his God is real?
In his own simple way,
Just as he knows there is a sun
Even on a cloudy day.

He knows that even when nights are dark,
And he stumbles and gropes about,
That Light will soon return again
To shine and help him out.

A wise man told him long ago
That darkness doesn't exist;
For you can't pick it up or keep it around
When Light is in your midst.

For can you catch a bottle of "dark"
Or can you make it stay
In a room that has been filled with light?
Oh, no, there's just no way.

The wise man told him something else
That's not well understood:
That evil's nothing but a lack
Of something that is good.

Now don't we say that God is Light,
And dark forces reside below?
Then wouldn't the presence of God in our lives
Make all those "dark forces" go?

But where would they go if they're really not there,
If no one heeds their call?
When the good comes in to light our lives,
We lose our illusions, that's all.

So then we can see, just as he sees,
That God's in every thing.
In every little Child who laughs,
In every Bird that sings.

Yes, God's in every thing we see
Whether we call it bad or good;
So God's what we should be looking for,
And we'd see God if we would.