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.