The Psalm of the Great Amen

When I finish praying apart from others,
as the final word of prayer
drifts away beyond reach of ears,
I listen for the Great Amen.

Like silent thunder
it comes rolling back.
Or it leaps across the roof tops,
racing madly through the leaves of trees,
whipping wildly over electrical wires
linking pole to pole
and with the surge of a cosmic sea wave
it crashes upon my shore:
"Amen."

From all creation comes the chorus,
from snow-swept glaciers
and ever-extending deserts,
from dark-brown jungle rivers
and majestic mountain ranges,
from vast redwood forests
and endless rolling prairies,
from flocks of flying birds
and herds of wild animals,
from swarms of monarch butterflies
and schools of fish in the ocean deep:
to each of my prayers
comes the Great Amen.

From God's great family, one and all,
rainbow-colored in skin and faith,
from those of every compass point,
from country, town, and urban slum,
it comes, it always comes.

From heaven's host in splendor wrapped,
angels and archangels,
saints and mystics all,
it slowly swells and rises;
then rushes cascading into the cave of my heart:
"AMEN, AMEN, AMEN."


Edward Hays