Doth not the coolness of
The air caress thy forehead
As beat above do those
Wings of thy masters as to
Wing those serpents do
Take to survey that for which
They have glorified the
Forsaking of mans spirit
In it’s decline of faith succumbed
By doubt and yet before
Me do thy stand in anticipation
Of that judgment which is
Not mine to pass for with
Knowing did thee walk that
Path of worldliness