The turning earth will raise its wand And bring the seasons to their fruitful end And little men and trains will crawl And snake their way around the timeless bend
And rivers, too, will course their way To find the hungry Mother Sea at last
And love will grow, it will come to pass
The sun will blaze its scorching path Across the sky a million times or more And men with charts will scan the skies In quest of life on some forgotten shore And in the quiet womb the sleeping seed Will stretch its arms and grow at last
And love will grow, it will come to pass
It will come to pass
Though men and minds and times will change Still pinioned they by fears of growing old
Though scalpeled hands will plumb the deepest corners None will find the soul Yet bearded men in sandwich boards Will tell the sinful streets "HeÂŽs Come At Last"