he comes the morning star

Dove of white fire, burning bright, cleave the sun from amber light.

Become the veil of the moon, mists arising from Earth's womb.

He comes, He comes the dawn, He comes the brown and silver fawn.

He comes, He comes the eventide, He comes for all who walk the path that He abides.

Dove of Grace, he keeps us in his feathered fold,

His Spirit in the smallest bird who braves the winter cold.

He comes the rose, He comes the rain, He comes the hands that touch and heal the pain.

He comes the night, He comes the day, He comes the Morning Star above to light the way.

Whiteness of the Flame, soft against our cheek, still the tears, stay the fears

His presence is proclaimed the Morning Star is risen once again.
 

from Atlantean Adorations
of the Dove (Christ)
by Rev. Maia Chrystine Nartoomid