You come gliding through this Saint Louis blues, on a cold Sunday morning, frigid and clear.
You come walking through icy paths patiently gliding through forests deep as your walk fearlessly to the unknown.
You come tested by fire like gold and silver and all precious jewel formed by fire.
You come leaning not on your own understanding but listening to the voice in the desert.
You come on the shoulders of ancestors, unbroken, unknown, but impossible to ignore.
You come with birds flying from as far as Onicha, with tidings that will frame you, guide you as you follow the bird within.
You come with the gallop of horses, the jolt of chariots, with power, fierce and restless.
You come with words like wisdom, deep and like oceans and fresh like flowing streams.
You come not on your own, but with divine favor as pleasing as rain.
You come with grace as numberless as grains of sand, as fruitful as fields of grapes.
You come with these words in writing. Time is coming quickly and what you will be will come true.
You come knowing too that it may seem slow on coming. Yet you will wait for it, as it will certainly take place and not be delayed.
You come filled with awe and full of praise for what he will do.
Finally you come, despite everything, you come with the brightness of lighting, with a gleam strong enough to make the sun and moon stand still.