Jubilee

I can't see the house I'm building,
but I know it's there.
I hear old men whispering in the corners
and children playing on the stairs.
And my father he is walking
in fields that I have sown.
And the blessings I borrowed
to pay him back tomorrow
are the blessing I now own.
They're blessings I now own.

I can't see the house I'm building,
but I know there's nothing it lacks.
There are dogs eating meat from the table,
and firewood piled up in stacks.
And my teachers they are sitting
at the places I have set.
And the words they're saying are my words,
though I can't understand them yet.
No, I can't understand them yet.

So I sing the song I've always sung,
but this time without fear.
For I've seen a harvest in a little seed,
and the future already here.
Yes, the future's already here.

I can't see the house I'm building,
but I know it's nearly made.
Whether I labor or lay at rest,
the cornerstone's long been laid.
And there's a room where my widow is laughing,
as she wipes a tear on her cuff.
And on her lips my kiss still says,
"It always was enough.
Yes, it always was enough."

So I sing the song I've always sung,
but this time without fear.
For I've seen a harvest in a little seed,
and the future already here.
Yes, the future's already here.

Tam Lin