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Eastward, Rising
Folder:
And Time Goes By Through pylons across high hills
eastward to the morning sun, rising;
it seems all things disappear
but the road ahead.
Magnificent nature
reveals its beauty, softly;
the earth seems young,
even with its thousands of years.
And as I grope from uncertainty,
there is a song in my heart, joyous;
I place my burdens in the
vein of my savior.
Memories in the window call,
my heart is filled, sweetly;
the music begins, a nightingale
moves me to divine reverence.
