They look down upon me as they march by, walking with definite purpose, pressing onward toward a goal.
Such industry as I rest immobile. You have struck me still, Lord, while progress flows all around.
When the storms come, and the wind blows, they will need to tie down and grasp hold of the earth. They will need me, unmoving me, rooted me.
They will cleave to me soon enough. Thank you, Lord, for stillness. Thank you, Lord, for the grace to be generous.