The human spirit comes back, it comes back,
Like cows to full-grown corn,
You may drive them, drive them away,
They come back, come back to the corn.

The human spirit runs free, it runs free,
Finding paths, some here, some there.
It runs on like the waves upon water,
Driven on, driven on by the breeze.

The human spirit has its whims, has its whims,
Who can dare, dare to fasten it down?
It will wander, will wander untamed,
Like the wind in a gale or a storm.

The human spirit is poison, is poison,
Unknowable its deeds and its ways,
Far better the snake, the scorpion,
Their venom might answer to charms.

The human spirit is so quick, is so quick,
It knows not what patience is.
It streaks like a flash of lightening
From the sky to the earth as it will.

The human spirit is as small, is as small,
As the seed of the poppy flower,
And how vast, and how vast is that spirit?
Too vast for the heavens to hold.

Dear Lord, you have fashioned the human spirit
Unlike anything else in the world.
A miraculous maker you are –
And miraculous too are your works.

What is this thing called spirit
And with what skill have you wrought it so?
Was it, perhaps, a strange dream
That you dreamt with wide-open eyes?