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Sing a song of a city, built by many hands, 
That rises over fields and streams, 
In many different lands. 
It is a song of buildings, its theatres and its shops, 
The throbbing of its constant life, 
A life that never stops. 
In the streets of cities, with architecture grand, 
You marvel at the many things 
Built by the hand of man. 

Sing a song of mountains, some with snow capped peaks, 
Their majesty and beauty, 
Their ruggedness so steep. 
They sing a tune of windsong, a song both fierce and soft 
They sing the song of eagle, 
Who soars the slopes aloft. 
And in the mountain ranges, which echoes as you plod, 
You marvel at their majesty, 
Built by the hand of God. 

Sing a song of rivers, that wind down to the sea. 
That murmur softly in their banks 
Or roar so mightily. 
It is a song of Willow, and of the River Gum. 
That sigh so softly in the breeze 
And glitter in the sun. 
As it winds along its way, lifeís gift it gives the land 
So follow rivers as they go 
Guided by Godís hand. 

Sing a song of farmlands, its chequered brown and green, 
And here you see the hand of man 
His constant toil is seen. 
He feeds the teeming cities, the furrow straight he ploughs 
A working song of husbandry 
Midst corn and crops and cows. 
So sing a song of nature, the farmersí friend and foe. 
That rewards them and chastises them. 
And taught them all they know. 

Sing a song of forests, the mighty Pine and Oak 
The Cedars and the Beeches 
That spread their grey green cloak. 
They whisper of survival, they help our planet breathe. 
And give up their green secrets, 
And timbers we can reave. 
The screaming song of chainsaws that echo through the glen, 
Has scarred our great green forests, 
Fire has murdered them. 
So sing a song of tragedy, else it becomes a dirge. 
To show a great mistake, 
The shrinking forestsí verge. 

Sing a song of the ocean, a spume flung happy song 
Of wind tossed waves and merriment 
That drives our ship along. 
Or sing a song of power, that crashes on the shore. 
Of sun born winds and hurricanes 
That spawn within its maw. 
Then sing a song of heroes, wave tossed in their small craft 
Who sailed across to find new lands, 
Its mighty bosom vast. 

Sing a song of cumulus, of nimbus and its rain, 
That falls on thirsty land - It comes to life again. 
When the song sings thunder, flashes light the sky, 
Answer that song gratefully, 
A home to keep you dry. 
Listen to the thunder, Godís own song of course, 
See the grass grow greener 
That feeds both beast and horse. 

Sing a song of the planet, round the sun it goes, 
It turns its face once daily, 
To that bright star it knows. 
Then sing a little moonsong, 
The governess of tides, 
And sing of how she made the spring 
When once she did collide. 
Then marvel at the universe, and at the Milky Way. 
Think of mansí great loneliness 
As this he does survey. 

Sing Earthsong with rapture, your voices raised on high, 
And sing Earthsong in unison 
God gives the reason why. 
It matters not what tongue you sing, 
It matters not your hue, 
As on this tiny globe you cling, 
Your Gods will answer you. 

David Henry. 24/1/98 - 17/10/01. 

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