Whitsunday
There's seven weeks until our harvest speaks a tongue or two
At nine o'clock we'll lead our spirits
To the upper room
And it came upon them fires of wisdom
This was a magical song
And they joined in chorus drunk with translation
All while the wind filled their lungs
As they gathered on the mountain appetites ensued
For they remembered who gave supper once within this room
They waved new wheat and thanked their farmer
He had labored love
They descended two traditions
One which just begun
At nine o'clock we'll lead our spirits
To the upper room
And it came upon them fires of wisdom
This was a magical song
And they joined in chorus drunk with translation
All while the wind filled their lungs
As they gathered on the mountain appetites ensued
For they remembered who gave supper once within this room
They waved new wheat and thanked their farmer
He had labored love
They descended two traditions
One which just begun
Credits
Writer(s): Geoff Ereth
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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