Who are you that makes the sun to shine and the moon to cast its gleam? Who are you that sways the waters blue, composing a cradle for life to teem?
Who are you that gives the rose its scent, commanding the dew to crown it in splendor? Who tells the doe to hide in flora, making way for nativity tender?
Who are you that called us forth from dust, bestowing your breath and bidding us trust?
Providing our shade ‘neath your towering trees, until one of them threw us in shame to our knees.
Now, lo! Do we see you spinning a robe, to cover and comfort and shield us from cold? Who are you, we ask, that would do such a thing for we who have fallen and made your heart sting?
Who are you with hands so calloused and worn, yet smiling so sweetly upon the forlorn?
Your face so familiar, yet strange to behold—who are you whose friendship is worth more than gold?
Who are you that cries all alone in the dark, who asks more than anything never to part from the source of all wisdom and glory and love—lifting your eyes to the vastness above?
Who are you with arms open wide in such pain? These arms meant for holding now carry the stain of crimson transgression, but how could this be? You’re hurt for our crimes while we are set free.
Who are you whose death has given us life? Who are you whose triumph has ended our strife?
Oh please, you must tell us, for we long to know. Who are you that loves us? We cherish you so.