The rising sun's streaming gold upon lovely earth mother's cedar topped mounts. She hearkens to tidings of love as we haste to a myrtle grove greatly worn with footprints from past sojourners who walked this way-each and every soul seeking the bushes which bear the fruit of many past season's dewberries sweetly dripping sugar upon unclad feet. We catch her thorns and vines that twine about trunks of trees and crawl greenly o'er hills that wind up and down cavernous mountainsides. We pick little lily-white flowers that grow in cold-pale weakness beside streams cascading down cliffs in frothy white waterspray. Bathed by dampness, we feel the washing away of all dreaded numbness, all dismal despair. Here we stand: the children of tomorrow, trembling in ecstasy; All senses cheered, uplifted...quakingly ready: strength rising, rising, rising...until off this way we run! Over hill, over dale, through bramble and brae like little lambs astray and all along the way we shed all covery skin crying out to the wind: "How now, spirit! Whither wander you?" And in laughter we gleefully sing out too, "through flood, through fire, I do wander everywhere!" Come along with me! Let us all run free!