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I can’t even see the air Though I see things that are awry And yet I’m sure that God is there, No matter how dark the failing sky. Rivers past have all gone dry Smoke spews from the dragon’s lair One cannot see clear through the sky How heavy the stale, polluted air. Toil tonight o’er here, o’er there Fight ye now, or later fly Burning heat, the cinnamon air The brow may sweat and throat go dry. Yet up above, way past the sky He glances down on you with care. His fountain flows, it’s never dry We may be sure that God is there.