You can't power your destination by shoveling your belief.
You will find yourself smut black and exhausted from the heat.
You can't hang your dogmas from the banner of the leading pony truck.
The passengers on board may not know the salvation that you've struck.
The locomotive that we share has cars lined all behind.
Some of them are full of Jews or Buddhists so sublime.
Many dishes destined to arrive at our own booth,
Would cause disdain, and much insult, to passengers aloof.
Here within this grandest region we think we're all alone.
But Swaminarayan, a God of man, too calls these hills his home.
Shaken through our Appalachia are people who saw her might. Led by their Gods to seek out this blissful southern light.
Yes, its true, her beauty draws the likes of every kind.
We must share this boxcar and share it dignified.
If you should chance to pass ole boy, brother Ali or Patel.
Speak real kind, be benign, or your soul will burn in hell.
Have you seen the dandelions blooming in the fall?
Probably not, because by fall the frost has killed them all.
Have you ever seen a songbird singing in the snow?
Probably not because southern warmth calls them and they go.
Have you ever trod a chilly July morn?
You've never found the sun exhausted from keeping your skin warm. What about the springtime? When everything is wet.
Can you find a dry spot in the clover as you set?
The seasons bring their own vicissitude and strife.
But the end to their means is to make way for new life.
You have a place in every season, dont hunt for what is gone. Preserve yourself “holding fast unto the throng.”
Summer waits at springtime end and fall follows the same. When wintertime sends her worst spring will come again