Slumber and sloth call continually

Ignoring the beckoning of heroic cries

Our thoughts constantly surfing,

Being dulled into a sleep, while embracing lies

Swept into a dormant state

Lethargy is conquering without care

Obsessed with generous distractions

Too many live unaware

Has the Watchman of the heart perished?

Was he ever there?

Who stands guard over the heart now…

To tell it to grieve, object, or despair?

Who awakens the soul from wandering…

To tell it it’s time to come home?

The poor crippled soul, impaired and marred

Has been adrift all on its own

Wake up oh, weary one, your muddled mind

The time to be silent is no more

 Let us attend and listen well to the Watchman…

Who stands relentlessly knocking at your door.



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