Child of Dawn, Awake

Nor books nor words can now suffice

To wrest from mind its dominance

And throne in seat supreme the Real

Whose Truth this wounded world could heal.

O Poet, singing of flaming suns

And flowers fading not by day

Nor waters turning black by night

On rapid wings draw near the light.

That all may see and lastly find

The strength to cast this life away

That hides so deep the child of Dawn.

In womb of night while breaks the morn.