The morning after the storm,
Rises bright with promise.
The mists rise slowly,
Crowning each hill with glory.
The rays streaked kiss
The wet land and dry it.
After the angry pounding,
After the flash and rumble,
After the rise of the earths song.
Comes the quiet dawn,
Tiptoeing up the hills,
Come with a bright promise,
A shining newness of being.
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