Morning Song

Written by: David Smalling

I have come to the tree green with leaves
Amidst the brash blustering of winter and thawing
The prophet once the old green decieves
But he did not hear else but cold crow cawing 
I am come to thronging of the voice
And the memory of years in shadows decayed
For there was no sunlight to rejoice
The heart, nothing bright for what we prayed

But there perched on a lectern like limb
On this gray day you find another voice to sing
The voice I thought I was dead, since dim
Light found you no where on your  sovereign and sweet wing
Hark how it sings from Abraham to King
Hark the passion pelting the prodigal of faith
And our weariness melting, we cling
To each word, loving the song and knowing its late.

O but sweet today, and not sweeter
Before, this is the sweetest song you ever sang
Nothing in it for our hereafter
Just the reminder that dawn can still come fire-strong
As we love our leaders to be. Wet
My hope again with dew and set my love to bloom
And for this song I too shall forget
The coming sunset everywhere, the harping doom.