Holy is the dish and drain The soap and sink and the cup and plate Warm wool socks and the cold white tile Shower heads and good dry towels And frying eggs sound like psalms With bits of salt measured in my palm It's all a part of a sacrament As holy as a day is spent Holy is the busy street The cars that boom with passion's beat And the check out girl counting change And the hands that shook my hands today And hymns of geese fly overhead And spread their wings like their parents did Blessed be the dog that runs in her sleep To chase some wild and elusive thing Holy is the familiar room And quiet moments in the afternoon And folding sheets like folding hands To pray as only laundry can I'm letting go of all my fear Like autumn leaves made of earth and air For the summer came and the summer went As holy as a day is spent Holy is the place I stand To give whatever small good I can And the empty page and the open book Redemption everywhere I look Unknowingly we slow our pace In the shade of unexpected grace And with grateful smiles and sad lament As holy as a day is spent And morning light sings providence As holy as a day is spent