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My Cathedral

My cathedral is the forest,
The pews are mossy banks;
There a scarlet crested parson,
Drums insistently his thanks.
I have no need of temples
Carved in stone by hands of man,
My cathedral is the forest,
My heaven is the land.

My altar is a meadow
Thick carpeted with grass;
Its roof the vault of heaven,
Each day a sacred mass.
And I hear the feathered choir,
Bees and crickets thrum the time,
There ’s no hymn can take me higher
And no ritual more sublime.

I care nothing for religion,
Nor require a builded hall
To sing paeans to creation
And give praises to the ALL.
When I die I’ll make no journey
To another place above,
But my bones will rot in glory,
And my cells return to Love.

In my temple there’s no worship
To a goddess or a god;
Trees are one, both male and female,
There’s no gender in the sod;
While the symphony of seedling
Brings about all living things,
And the music of creation
In every atom sings.

I look about in wonder
As I walk those pillared aisles,
At the dapple-down of sunbeams
That light leaf-litter tiles.
I’m in awe of the mosaics,
Of the plush and verdant green,
And the thought of its destruction
Strikes as nothing but profane.

But we’re ruining the temple,
Carving up its living flesh;
Its walls are torn asunder
In the name of corporate cash.
I beg you please rebuild it,
Let the forest stand up tall;
It was put on earth for living,
For the good of one and ALL.

— Jeremy Frith

Jeremy Frith died suddenly at age 64
of a heart attack on Dec. 8, 2009, at
Mountain Meadow Farm, Nova Scotia, Canada.

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