Gogglepod sat up slowly, rubbing his tired eyes. “Surely it is not morning already,” he thought. But, a quick glance out the window proved him wrong as he beheld long rays of gleaming yellow sunlight pouring onto the wooden floor below. Swinging from his hammock, he dropped onto the makeshift floor, barely making a sound with his soft feet. Donning his brown, frayed, buckskin shirt and pants, he shoved a coonskin cap on his head to cover his brown greasy hair.

The gate that we enter is narrow
The passersby are few
The clouds above us are threatening
The fog is thickn’ing gloom

The brothers around us are fainting
Our blood is mixed with our sweat
The air is fraught with dark danger
The ground with pitfalls and snares.

But, hark! The cries of angels
Lo! The sound of song
Hear the voice of heavenly anthems
Ring out on higher ground.

Don’t give up, my brother
Stay strong, my sister dear
Though the war around is raging
Fight on to higher ground.