SONG OF THE COVENANT
O Rhythm before mountains,
O Breath before dawn,
O Memory of ancestors,
O Spirit who leads us on—
Hear our song,
hold our steps,
steady our hearts.
For we have walked with time,
and time has walked with us.
We remember rains that keep their promise,
and droughts that teach us prayer.
We remember children with laughter like rivers,
and elders with voices like evening.
We remember the drum that remembers us,
and the wind that speaks in signs.
We remember quarrels softened beneath the fig tree,
and peace returning like dawn.
We remember the covenant,
and the covenant remembers us.
When courage was needed, we delayed.
When patience was needed, we rushed.
When silence held truth, we spoke.
When justice cried out, we were silent.
Yet even when we lost rhythm—
rhythm did not lose us.
Strike the drum, Keeper of Seasons.
Let its beat become our breath.
Align our breath with wisdom.
Align our steps with season.
Align our memories with truth.
Align our choices with purpose.
Bless our leaders with humility.
Bless our children with wonder.
Bless our elders with clarity.
Bless the unborn with peace.
For to walk in rhythm
is to walk in freedom.
O Nature, gentle teacher—steady us.
O Will, bold companion—guide us.
O Ancestors, quiet guardians—remind us.
O Spirit, bright flame—direct us.
Let these four stand together—
the circle that holds our days.
When rhythm breaks—
let the land call us home.
When courage thins—
let elders stand beside us.
When vision dims—
let children lift our eyes.
When we forget the covenant—
let the drum speak our names.
For home is not a place.
Home is the rhythm we return to.
To those not yet among us—
may you find seasons tended,
rivers honored,
trees standing tall.
May our choices become your shelter.
May our wisdom become your song.
Time of our ancestors,
time of our children,
time of our breath and becoming—
Bless our path.
Let us walk in rhythm.
Let us walk in truth.
Let us walk in covenant.
And when our season ends,
and our breath returns to silence,
and our stories join the ancestors—
may the drum strike once more
and guide us home.
