Newness declares itself in broken hearts:
old ruts are vast and carry dust
yet penitence cleans fathoms deep
and always makes anew.
What yesterday made shame your song
today is fading into silence.
Listen: polyphonic hope arises,
gentle, soft, yet sure.
The old has passed, yet still can yell;
The new has come, and comes each day.
In humble ways and hopeful praise,
sing to the Lord new songs.
The Consolations of Writing 