The root is turning
beneath the great tree,
the sprig is twisting
In the heart of the seed this hour.
Feel the first bud unfurling
with tomorrows bright flowers,
whilst the old ice is melting
In the dawns early hours.
Gone crumbling memories
of autumns lost leaves,
gone the dark sickle
and the hour of grief.
Gone the bright star
‘neath a blanket of white,
gone the dim shadows
from the darkest of night.

The candle is burning
on the altar of night,
the lantern of morning
begins to arise.
Hear the first bird singing
with tomorrows bright song,
feel the wise trees awaken
in the first hours of morn.
Come the great lantern
from beneath the dark hood,
come the bright dawning
awaken this wood.
Feel the first light of morning
calling days flowers,
gone the dim shadows
come the first dawning hours,