The man that said, "There’s nothing free,"

Is just as blind as he can be.

Who do we pay for cooling rain,

That splatters on our window pane?

Or the beauty of the stars on high,

And soft white clouds in bright blue sky?

These yield to us an awesome gift,

That gives the weary soul a lift.

Each sunbeam traveling down to earth,

Causing sleeping seeds to burst;

With appetizing energy,

All these gifts to us are free.

The rippling stream that’s rushing on;

The painted sky when day is gone.

The breeze that cools our burning cheeks,

And paths that leads to mountain peaks.

Spring flowers yielding beauty rare;

Wild flowers scattered everywhere.

The colorful display of autumn leaves,

Who pays for seeing all of these?

Who pays the songbird in the tree?

Sometimes I think the best is free.

We do not buy the strangers smile,

Or the laughter of a little child.

Do we merit ears to hear,

The voices that we love so dear?

Our eyes and all our body parts,

And memories stored within our hearts?

Yah formed the roaring waterfall,

And peaks of mountains straight and tall?

Yah spoke a word, said let them be,

All these precious things are free.