Disgruntled Hymnal 263

My God, how long! how long I’ve come
through these prosaic hills
with winding dusty roads and in
this ghastly light of ills.

But then at last while trudging on
I hear a fairy horn
resounding like the dimmest dawn
and hope springs up reborn.

In that new sound I lift my head
to look over the blight
above the dullness of the haze
I glimpse a pointed height.

From Zion sounds the distant bell
of elves and Jesus Christ;
desire quickens discipline,
I’ve been again enticed.



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