Let morning come, slow and wan,
battered by a night of storm;
all the day’s allotted strength spent
by six a.m. yet the day must go on.
Let morning come, weary and wet through.
Let the constant dove keep calling.
Let sparrows and finches congregate
in their accustomed place.
Let the praying Lady remember us,
now and at that hour.
Let be whatever will.
Let morning come.
~ Rebekah Choat