By Robin Williamson



Robin Williamson: Guitar, indian flute, oboe, piano, cello and vocal.



I see your faces

blown through the horned clouds

in the silent cities

they call me so loud

come through the fire

come through the foam

come at the world's night

call the herds home

dearest child dearest child

Most High

please don't let our fancy die

till all the grapes are gathered from the vine



when you come

will you sound the harp

give to the blind

cat's eyes in the dark

o will we know you for what you are

you who have come so far

sweetest fair sweetest fair

Most High

don't let them cut that ladder before its time

for all the grapes to be gathered from the vine



He comes again

She comes again

through the mist of time

through the mist of rain

no more words my heart brims over

in the sea of circustance

rows for the rocky shore



we who have sworn

by the dead and the unborn

wheels within wheels

O Most High.