Child of Day Sept. 22, 1970

Our mortal will cannot now suffice

To wrest from mind its self-claimed dominance

And throne the light of a new consciousness

On Truth alone to this world where chance

And fate decide as on a roll of dice

Our destiny, our suffering, our doom.

The Poet-seers who sing of flaming suns

In mantric lines disperse the clouds of gloom,

Their vision of an earth returned to grace

And beauty wrested from the grip of night

Builds in us the higher harmonies.
And strength to draw us nearer to the light

They assure us that we have this strength to change.

And must not cast our love and life away

For in nightÍs darkest womb is hid the morn

That soon shall bear the golden child of day.