Can you imagine a beach
where all the nations come to play?
There is no one to teach or preach
or tell them what to say.
They live out of their hearts, them each,
and laugh in their own way.
As many as the sands they reach,
holding hands this day.
What can we do, what sin impeach,
to make such beauty stay?
The dream itself—it will beseech
the healing of the fray.
Dear One—show heart and hungry speech;
for aching nations pray.
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