out from the east, a Wind doth blow
to shake me from my slumber.
but slow am i, with thoughts awry,
to 'wake and greet the morning.
my slow mistakes, did over time
put sleep into mine eyes.
that coat of crust betrayed my trust
to keep me from the morning.
for many years have i ignored
the Light, which, through my windows,
implored this son, "you once did run -
arise! for it is morning!"
i feel my weary soul: its stir -
a tremble through my spirit.
both strong and sure, the certain cure
will heal me by the morning.
the waking now lies close at hand,
with Light and Wind adorning.
i'll greet the Sun, Thy will be done,
on earth and in the morning.
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