harps//strings

The Hyssop that sees me. Blood as you pass over my lintel, my death taken and my life given. Oh, Ezov of my days, may You heal the sickness that poisons my spirit and return me to Your waters.

Help us bid farewell to the apathy that has kept us in our slumber. Babylon, we say goodbye. Where we made our beds, we will no longer dwell. Greatness has found us and Glory has lifted us up.

To the ones who weep, rejoice.
To the ones who are faint, rejoice.
To the generations left behind and left unseen, rejoice.

To the lost…rejoice.

Do you feel it? This is the breath remaking our sinews. The young growing in stature and the elderly regaining their vibrancy. Bones made strong again. Imagination made manifest and dreams coming alive. The sacred wind rebuilding what the locusts have eaten. Zion is calling. The still waters of the valley. The forgotten songs. The willow we hung our lyres on, we shall take up again.

Sons and daughters, rejoice.
It is morning.