Poetic Lyrics

You brush the vault of heaven and paint the stars of night,
each with a sep’rate splendor, the canvas filled with light.
You count them in their places. You call their names; they gleam.
When you touch their pulse with fire, the stars begin to sing.

Sanctus, sanctus, alleluia.

This is our sep’rate splendor: a soul of light from birth,
a star that yearns for heaven in this body made of earth.
Stardust clinging to your hands transformed the clay in me;
I hear the stars rejoicing, and I begin to sing.

Sanctus, sanctus, alleluia.

You crown the night with wonder; you set the stars aflame.
And in our sep’rate splendors, our light pours forth your name.
The heavens fill with glory as all your shining stars
sing to the one who made us, who made us as we are.

Sanctus, sanctus, alleluia.
We sing alleluia.