The Child 3

3
The clouds part, the morning star appears in the East, a breath of relief
  springs up from the heart of the earth, the murmur of leaves ripples along
  the forest path, and the early bird sings.
‘The time has come,’ proclaims the Man of faith.
‘The time for what?’
‘For the pilgrimage.’
They sit and think, they know not the meaning, and yet they seem to
  understand according to their desires.
The touch of the dawn goes deep into the soil and life shivers along through
  the roots of all things.
‘To the pilgrimage of fulfilment,’ a small voice whispers, nobody knows
  whence.
Taken up by the crowd it swells into a mighty meaning.
Men raise their heads and look up, women lift their arms in reverence,
  children clap their hands and laugh.
The early glow of the sun shines like a golden garland on the forehead of the
  Man of faith, and they all cry: ‘Brother, we salute thee!’