“O what brave souls are we, who linger here about the rainy dawn!
Here from the grip of weariness born freely into the morning.
Surprised by what refreshing candor hath rain whence unexpected,
Elated in the gray dayspring, the foundry of inspiration.
Though second caught in wonder are we, what ‘inspiration’ finds us:
What breath we sought to breathe evades…while ever The Breath collects us.
Drawing to Its hidden places–––morning hours and thought’s embraces,
Brought to muse on grace, unforeseen–––like the rain, how greatly needed.
So with endless curiosity, we are like children rising.
Newborn eyes to newborn skies, widened and taking in the splendor!
Somehow the world about the morning, yet unfilled by its creatures,
Allows some faint empyrean light to dwell upon its rushes.
How like grace are these early whispers, found by those It calls to rise:
The haggard groaning of the risen, resistant to our waking.
How then to marvel in the lights, the windfall of Its hidden sleights,
To revel in what yearning brings both toilsome rise…and joyful hours.”
–––From Book II