For neon lights and faded jeans.
Let angels and guitars alike,
let chariots and motorbikes
and high and low by every means
sing his awesome grace.
Praise be to God for jungle drums!
For wedding feasts, for wine, for Tums.
Let parliaments, let golden pond,
let Mother T. and Elton John
and monks and movie stars and bums
dance his dazzling grace.
Avid scribes in lairs outworn
conjure canon, blame, and warn:
“Don’t eat! Don’t kiss! Don’t fart! Don’t grin!
and all subject to sacred scorn
seek out a hiding place.”
Glory to God for rockin’ bands!
For tacky praises, wounded hands.
Let golden pheasants, canyons, flutes,
Let Amy, Zeppo, sandals, boots,
all reconciled creation dance
and sing his awesome grace.