From the soil, rise dry bones

Under the stars; He sleeps. Creation groans; heaven sighs to the beat of Eternal Pathos. Three stars light the sacred stones— a holy altar. From the abyss, a swirling darkness foams. Morning comes and the New Adam tills the earth. Children of Adam His Spirit calls forth; descendants of Abraham— rattling; from the soil rise dry bones: “My Spirit on you I breathe— live, and wage war in the power of my Name.”

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