The Appointed Morn
This is the chosen morn
When the bereaved may mourn,
And the free roam about
Without an ounce of doubt.
This be the appointed dawn
That the oath of progress may be sworn,
And clasped the slippery handle of hope
To tame time's supersonic gallop.
Father of heaven and earth
Preserve this morn my precarious mirth,
Lo! the appointed morn at last is born!