Where morning rings with newborn hope
And twilight tolls the death of days
Where seasons clothe then strip the slope
Where nature’s common rites amaze
Where rich and poor together bide
Time’s subtle tide; sun up, sundown
Where innocence is young, wide-eyed
And wisdom wears a hoary crown
Where pride spars with humility
Where greed and need war and pervade
Where bewildered humanity
Is too oft by exterior swayed
Where still the bud is filled with bloom
And strings its beauty over dust
And sings to He who grants its plume
And brings to gnostic seekers, trust
This constant round of day to day
Is like a holy ground unfurled
Where what may seem habitual sway
Blows like a shofar to the world
Sun up, sundown, and in between
The noise of buy and sell and trade
Where marketplaces gold-gray-green
Fold to the hold where death is laid
…where death is all life’s certainty
Each breath the medium whereby
We approach vast eternity
Its gateway swallows up the sky
Where even now each day of grace
Becomes a steppingstone toward
This body’s final resting place
As Soul goes on to meet the Lord
© Janet Martin
Just as man is appointed to die once, and after that to face judgment,
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