Canticle Of The Turning chords

INTRO/OUTRO: [Em] [Em] [G] [D] [G] [C] [Em]

[VERSE 1]
My s[Em]oul cries out with a j[G]oyful s[D]hout that the G[G]od of my h[Em]eart is gr[D]eat,
And my s[Em]pirit sings of the w[G]ondrous th[D]ings that you b[G]ring to the o[C]nes w[D]ho [Em]wait.
You [G]fixed your sight on the [Am]servant's plight, and my w[G]eakness you d[Em]id not s[D]purn,
So from e[Em]ast to west shall my [G]name be b[D]lest. Could the w[Em]orld be ab[C]out [D]to t[Em]urn?

ANTIPHON:
My he[G]art shall sing of the [Am]day you bring. Let the f[G]ires of your j[Em]ustice [D]burn.
Wipe [Em]away all the tears, For the d[G]awn draws n[D]ear, And the [Em]world is a[C]bout [D]to [Em]turn.

[VERSE 2]
Though[Em] I am small, my G[G]od, my a[D]ll, you w[G]ork great t[Em]hings in [D]me,
And your m[Em]ercy will last from the d[G]epths of the p[D]ast to the e[G]nd of the a[C]ge [D]to [Em]be.
Your [G]very name puts the p[Am]roud to shame, and to th[G]ose who would [Em]for you y[D]earn,
You will s[Em]how your might, put the s[G]trong to [D]flight, for the w[Em]orld is ab[C]out [D]to t[Em]urn.

ANTIPHON:
My he[G]art shall sing of the [Am]day you bring. Let the f[G]ires of your j[Em]ustice [D]burn.
Wipe [Em]away all the tears, For the d[G]awn draws n[D]ear, And the [Em]world is a[C]bout [D]to [Em]turn.

[VERSE 3]
From the [Em]halls of power to the fo[G]rtress to[D]wer, not a st[G]one will be l[Em]eft on s[D]tone.
Let the k[Em]ing beware for your j[G]ustice te[D]ars ev'ry t[G]yrant f[C]rom h[D]is t[Em]hrone.
The h[G]ungry poor shall w[Am]eep no more, for the f[G]ood they can n[Em]ever e[D]arn;
These are t[Em]ables spread, ev'ry m[G]outh be f[D]ed, for the w[Em]orld is ab[C]out [D]to t[Em]urn.

ANTIPHON:
My he[G]art shall sing of the [Am]day you bring. Let the f[G]ires of your j[Em]ustice [D]burn.
Wipe [Em]away all the tears, For the d[G]awn draws n[D]ear, And the [Em]world is a[C]bout [D]to [Em]turn.

[VERSE 4]
Though the n[Em]ations rage from [G]age to [D]age, we rem[G]ember who [Em]holds us f[D]ast:
God's m[Em]ercy must del[G]iver [D]us from the c[G]onqueror's c[C]rush[D]ing [Em]grasp.
This s[G]aving word that our f[Am]orebears heard is the p[G]romise which h[Em]olds us [D]bound,
'Til the s[Em]pear and rod can be c[G]rushed by G[D]od, who is t[Em]urning the wo[C]rld a[D]ro[Em]und.

ANTIPHON X2
My he[G]art shall sing of the [Am]day you bring. Let the f[G]ires of your j[Em]ustice [D]burn.
Wipe [Em]away all the tears, For the d[G]awn draws n[D]ear, And the [Em]world is a[C]bout [D]to [Em]turn.
My he[G]art shall sing of the [Am]day you bring. Let the f[G]ires of your j[Em]ustice [D]burn.
Wipe [Em]away all the tears, For the d[G]awn draws n[D]ear, And the [Em]world is a[C]bout [D]to [Em]turn.