The Day, The Day

The day, the day is pressed upon my soul
And consciousness with light. Dare I arise
To yet another juncture of vain tries?
Onto temporal earth alights my sole.

The day, the day does seem monotonous
As I progress so little. Yet I tread
The earth where God as man once sped
And gave the value robb'd by moth and rust.

The day, the day sparkles with radiant
Moment. I pass immortals as I moan
Of dreariness; I hear an epic tone
In mumbled words riding prayer's gradient.

The day, the day does press upon my soul
And consciousness the Light. Divine nature,
Eternal power are presented sure
By day, by night. Now worship is my role.

The Day, the Day when I, at last, shall rise
To God will hold nostalgia only in one way:
I will, with fondness, think about each day
Of vanity, which, for love's sake, He prized.