All the power of the story is yours,
And the passion play unmistakable,
While the hour of your glory has paused
Before the short day’s light is wakeable.
And it makes us a place of approval,
In the early orbit of our saying,
Where the order of pace is removing
The old world of habitual praying.
And when sleep and it keepers have scattered,
And the day has been splashed with new colour,
All the people who greet me don’t matter
As they’re paved in the ash of the duller,
For you rise in the west to receive me
And we dwell in the vestment of eve’ning.