A thunder crack across the scene!
With every visage struck agog,
The seventh of the seals undone,
With heaven’s host descending through the fog,
Pure silence is the herald’s cry,
No trumpets loud, no festal tones,
But every face in knowing awe,
Aye, every soul struck silent, to the bones,
What holy might commands us thus?
What stops creation in its tracks?
It is the Son of Man, at last,
The one to whom we’ve rudely turned our backs,
The resurrected lamb of God,
The one who died and rose again,
Returning to his place on earth,
The golden throne within the halls of men,
What can we do with such as this?
We cannot shade our eyes or hide,
We cannot stall the risen God,
Who comes again to claim his holy bride,
We can but bow our knees and sink,
In monumental reverie,
At Zion’s foot, at David’s door,
The palaces renewed with energy,
A thousand shadows jump to view,
And raise their heads to praise His name,
The spectres of idolatry,
Revealed as naught against His dazzling flame,
The unity is searing strong,
A wind that sweeps us up like dust,
A puissant call, a rapture quick,
Devouring every stigma of mistrust,
Wherefore our petty vagaries?
Wherefore our views and sentiments contrasting?
All made silent as the grave,
Forgotten now in silence everlasting…
Written by Adam Daniel, 11.11.18
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