I have watched the knobby bare branches of our fig tree spread in the past few months, bereft of any sign of life. Now, suddenly, green buds swell and begin waving tiny green flags announcing the approach of another season of leafing and fruiting.
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the world
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the 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
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day
by English author Eleanor Farjeon and is set to a traditional Scottish Gaelic tune
Stones and Feathers 