Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass.
This was the hymn at Saturday morning Mass, First Saturday of the month. Hymn numbered as J64, brought by the Angel. Just after some unexpected rains too.
Morning has broken
It didn’t feel like it just then. Darkness covers much still. But my timing is never God’s. If this morning of life is to come, it will. I will wait by sending my heart to the needs the Angel has laid out for me. There is work to be done, and to it I go. Healing of my godmother’s sight. Souls of abusers. Muslim souls. My own sins and burdens. All to be brought before my Jesus.
Sweet the rain’s new fall,
sunlit from heaven
May the morning come, may it come soon, this special morning of the soul.
writingonmyheart 