On The Last Epiphany (Or Christ Coming To Judgment)
Behold! just coming from above,
The judge, with majesty and love!
The sky divides, and rolls away,
T'admit him through the realms of day!
The sun, astonished, hides its face,
The moon and stars with wonder gaze
At Jesu's bright superior rays!
Dread lightnings flash, and thunders roar,
And shake the earth and briny shore;
The trumpet sounds at heaven's command,
And pierceth through the sea and land;
The dead in each now hear the voice,
The sinners fear and saints rejoice;
For now the awful hour is come,
When every tenant of the tomb
Must rise, and take his everlasting doom.
poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Related quotes
His Majesty
It will be unmatched by anything, the coming majesty of our King,
Fully unmatched and unsurpassed; a majesty that will forever last.
His Majesty, witnessed by a few, whom The Lord personally knew,
The Majesty of God’s Only Son, appearing on Earth for everyone.
Many know Him as their Savior, Jesus Christ, our God and Creator,
Though we’ve yet to see His Majesty, we’ll behold it for all Eternity.
Majesty, that we worship presently, we’ll worship together eternally,
When we see Christ face to face, after we’re lifted up by His Grace.
Even all, who don’t believe as us, who in Christ, have put their trust,
Shall see His Majesty up in the sky, as Christ returns with you and I,
This, as all eyes on earth will see, the coming of our Lord’s Majesty,
But as the Judge, for all of them, who in unbelief stand condemned.
The time for believers is drawing near, when the trumpet we will hear,
When we’re gathered to our Savior’s side, as His Holy Chosen Bride.
Presently, we cannot fully appreciate, the Glory of Christ as we wait,
Neither can we truly comprehend, Christ’s Eternal Majesty my friend.
Together with the saints of old, Christ’s Glory we shall soon behold,
As we see the Majesty of Christ, who rose, to give men Eternal Life.
The splendor of His coming friend, shall bring a dark age to its end,
As He brings this age to a close, with a Majesty, that no one knows.
(Copyright ©09/2008)
The Black Tower
SAY that the men of the old black tower,
Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
That all are oath-bound men:
Those banners come not in.
There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
But winds come up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
Or whisper that a man's a fool
Who, when his own right king's forgotten,
Cares what king sets up his rule.
If he died long ago
Why do yopu dread us so?
There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
But wind comes up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
The tower's old cook that must climb and clamber
Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
Swears that he hears the king's great horn.
But he's a lying hound:
Stand we on guard oath-bound!
There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
But wind comes up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Psalm 50
The last judgment.
The Lord, the Sovereign, sends his summons forth,
Calls the south nations and awakes the north;
From east to west the sounding orders spread,
Through distant worlds and regions of the dead:
No more shall atheists mock his long delay;
His vengeance sleeps no more: behold the day!
Behold, the Judge descends, his guards are nigh;
Tempest and fire attend him down the sky:
Heav'n, earth, and hell, draw near; let all things come
To hear his justice, and the sinner's doom:
"But gather first my saints," the Judge commands,
"Bring them, ye angels, from their distant lands.
"Behold, my cov'nant stands for ever good,
Sealed by th' eternal Sacrifice in blood,
And signed with all their names; the Greek, the Jew,
That paid the ancient worship or the new,
There's no distinction here; come, spread their thrones,
And near me seat my fav'rites and my sons.
"I, their Almighty Savior and their God,
I am their Judge: ye heav'ns, proclaim abroad
My just eternal sentence, and declare
Those awful truths that sinners dread to hear:
Sinners in Zion, tremble and retire;
I doom the painted hypocrite to fire.
"Not for the want of goats or bullocks slain
Do I condemn thee; bulls and goats are vain
Without the flames of love; in vain the store
Of brutal off'rings that were mine before;
Mine are the tamer beasts and savage breed,
Flocks, herds, and fields and forests where they feed.
"If I were hungry, would I ask thee food?
When did I thirst, or drink thy bullocks' blood?
Can I be flattered with thy cringing bows,
Thy solemn chatt'rings and fantastic vows?
Are my eyes charmed thy vestments to behold,
Glaring in gems, and gay in woven gold?
"Unthinking wretch! how couldst thou hope to please
A God, a Spirit, with such toys as these,
While, with my grace and statutes on thy tongue,
Thou lov'st deceit, and dost thy brother wrong?
In vain to pious forms thy zeal pretends,
Thieves and adulterers are thy chosen friends.
"Silent I waited with long-suff'ring love,
But didst thou hope that I should ne'er reprove?
And cherish such an impious thought within,
That God, the Righteous, would indulge thy sin?
Behold my terrors now: my thunders roll,
And thy own crimes affright thy guilty soul."
Sinners, awake betimes; ye fools, be wise;
Awake before this dreadful morning rise;
Change your vain thoughts, your crooked works amend,
Fly to the Savior, make the Judge your friend
Lest, like a lion, his last vengeance tear
Your trembling souls, and no deliv'rer near.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 122
Going to church.
How did my heart rejoice to hear
My friends devoutly say,
"In Zion let us all appear,
And keep the solemn day!"
I love her gates, I love the road;
The church, adorned with grace,
Stands like a palace built for God,
To show his milder face.
Up to her courts with joys unknown
The holy tribes repair;
The Son of David holds his throne,
And sits in judgment there.
He hears our praises and complaints;
And while his awful voice
Divides the sinners from the saints,
We tremble and rejoice.
Peace be within this sacred place,
And joy a constant guest!
With holy gifts and heav'nly grace
Be her attendants blest!
My Soul shall pray for Zion still,
While life or breath remains;
There my best friends, my kindred dwell,
There God my Savior reigns.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Prometheus Amid Hurricane And Earthquake
Earth is rocking in space!
And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,
And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,
And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round--
And the blasts of the winds universal leap free
And blow each other upon each, with a passion of sound,
And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea!
Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread,
From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along!
O my mother's fair glory! O Æther, enringing
All eyes with the sweet common light of thy bringing,
Dost see how I suffer this wrong?
Veterans
When the last charge sounds
And the battle thunders o'er the plain,
Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow,
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe?
When the last post sounds
And the night is on the battle-field,
Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars,
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars?
When the great réveillé sounds
For the terrible last Sabbath,
All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring!
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King?
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Bible in Poetry: Revelation 10
1Another mighty angel came
Down from heaven, robed in a cloud,
With a rainbow above his head;
His face shone brightly like the sun,
His legs were like fiery pillars.
2He held an open scroll in hand.
He planted his right foot on sea
And placed his left foot on the land,
3His voice was loud like lion’s roar;
As if the seven thunders spoke.
4And when the seven thunders spoke,
Just as I was about to write,
I heard a voice from heaven say,
'Seal up what seven thunders said
And do not write it down at all.'
5The angel raised his right hand to heaven.
6 He swore by Him who lives forever,
Who created all the heavens
And everything that is in them,
The earth and all that is in it,
The sea and all that is in it,
And said, 'There won’t more delay!
7 In the days when the seventh angel
Is about to sound his trumpet,
God’s mystery will be accomplished,
Just as He told to His prophets.'
8The voice I had heard from heaven spoke
To me once more: 'Go, take the scroll
That lies open in angel’s hand
Who stands both on the sea and land.'
9 I asked the angel for the scroll.
He said to me, 'Take it and eat.
It will turn your stomach sour;
Your mouth will have honey’s sweetness.'
10 I took the little scroll and ate.
It tasted as sweet as honey,
My stomach turned sour thereafter.
11I was told, 'Prophesy again,
About many peoples, nations,
And languages, races and kings.'
poem by John Celes
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Psalm 135 part 2
v.5-12
L. M.
The works of creation, providence, redemption of Israel, and destruction of enemies.
Great is the Lord, exalted high
Above all powers and every throne:
Whate'er he please, in earth or sea,
Or heav'n or hell, his hand hath done.
At his command the vapors rise,
The lightnings flash, the thunders roar;
He pours the rain, he brings the wind
And tempest from his airy store.
'Twas he those dreadful tokens sent,
O Egypt, through thy stubborn land,
When all thy first-born, beasts and men,
Fell dead by his avenging hand.
What mighty nations, mighty kings,
He slew, and their whole country gave
To Isr'el, whom his hand redeemed,
No more to be proud Pharaoh's slave!
His power the same, the same his grace,
That saves us from the hosts of hell;
And heav'n he gives us to possess,
Whence those apostate angels fell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Day Of Doom
Still was the night, Serene & Bright,
when all Men sleeping lay;
Calm was the season, & carnal reason
thought so 'twould last for ay.
Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,
much good thou hast in store:
This was their Song, their Cups among,
the Evening before.
Wallowing in all kind of sin,
vile wretches lay secure:
The best of men had scarcely then
their Lamps kept in good ure.
Virgins unwise, who through disguise
amongst the best were number'd,
Had closed their eyes; yea, and the wise
through sloth and frailty slumber'd.
For at midnight brake forth a Light,
which turn'd the night to day,
And speedily a hideous cry
did all the world dismay.
Sinners awake, their hearts do ake,
trembling their loynes surprizeth;
Amaz'd with fear, by what they hear,
each one of them ariseth.
They rush from Beds with giddy heads,
and to their windows run,
Viewing this light, which shines more bright
than doth the Noon-day Sun.
Straightway appears (they see 't with tears)
the Son of God most dread;
Who with his Train comes on amain
to Judge both Quick and Dead.
Before his face the Heav'ns gave place,
and Skies are rent asunder,
With mighty voice, and hideous noise,
more terrible than Thunder.
His brightness damps heav'ns glorious lamps
and makes them hang their heads,
As if afraid and quite dismay'd,
they quit their wonted steads.
No heart so bold, but now grows cold
and almost dead with fear:
No eye so dry, but now can cry,
and pour out many a tear.
Earth's Potentates and pow'rful States,
Captains and Men of Might
Are quite abasht, their courage dasht
at this most dreadful sight.
Mean men lament, great men do rent
their Robes, and tear their hair:
They do not spare their flesh to tear
through horrible despair.
All Kindreds wail: all hearts do fail:
horror the world doth fill
With weeping eyes, and loud out-cries,
yet knows not how to kill.
Some hide themselves in Caves and Delves,
in places under ground:
Some rashly leap into the Deep,
to scape by being drown'd:
Some to the Rocks (O senseless blocks!)
and woody Mountains run,
That there they might this fearful sight,
and dreaded Presence shun.
In vain do they to Mountains say,
fall on us and us hide
From Judges ire, more hot than fire,
for who may it abide?
No hiding place can from his Face
sinners at all conceal,
Whose flaming Eye hid things doth 'spy
and darkest things reveal.
The Judge draws nigh, exalted high,
upon a lofty Throne,
Amidst a throng of Angels strong,
lo, Israel's Holy One!
The excellence of whose presence
and awful Majesty,
Amazeth Nature, and every Creature,
doth more than terrify.
The Mountains smoak, the Hills are shook,
the Earth is rent and torn,
As if she should be clear dissolv'd,
or from the Center born.
The Sea doth roar, forsakes the shore,
and shrinks away for fear;
The wild beasts flee into the Sea,
so soon as he draws near.
Before his Throne a Trump is blown,
Proclaiming the day of Doom:
Forthwith he cries, Ye dead arise,
and unto Judgment come.
No sooner said, but 'tis obey'd;
Sepulchres opened are:
Dead bodies all rise at his call,
and 's mighty power declare.
His winged Hosts flie through all Coasts,
together gathering
Both good and bad, both quick and dead,
and all to Judgment bring.
Out of their holes those creeping Moles,
that hid themselves for fear,
By force they take, and quickly make
before the Judge appear.
Thus every one before the Throne
of Christ the Judge is brought,
Both righteous and impious
that good or ill hath wrought.
A separation, and diff'ring station
by Christ appointed is
(To sinners sad) 'twixt good and bad,
'twixt Heirs of woe and bliss.
poem by Michael Wigglesworth
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Negro Spirituals
IN DAT GREAT GITTIN’-UP MORNIN’
I ’M a gwine to tell you bout de comin’ ob de Saviour,—
Fare you well, Fare you well,
Dere ’s a better day a-comin’,
When my Lord speaks to his Fader,
Says, Fader, I ’m tired o’ bearin’,
Tired o’ bearin’ for poor sinners:
O preachers, fold your Bibles;
Prayer-makers, pray no more,
For de last soul’s converted.
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’,
Fare you well, Fare you well.
De Lord spoke to Gabriel:
Say, go look behind de altar,
Take down de silver trumpet,
Go down to de sea-side,
Place one foot on de dry land,
Place de oder on de sea,
Raise your hand to heaven,
Declare by your Maker,
Dat time shall be no longer,
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’, etc.
Blow your trumpet, Gabriel.
Lord, how loud shall I blow it?
Blow it right calm and easy,
Do not alarm my people,
Tell dem to come to judgment,
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’, etc.
Gabriel, blow your trumpet.
Lord, how loud shall I blow it?
Loud as seven peals of thunder,
Wake de sleepin’ nations.
Den you see poor sinner risin’,
See de dry bones a creepin’,
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’, etc.
Den you see de world on fire,
You see de moon a bleedin’,
See de stars a fallin’,
See de elements meltin’,
See de forked lightnin’,
Hear de rumblin’ thunder.
Earth shall reel and totter,
Hell shall be uncapped,
De dragon shall be loosened.
Fare you well, poor sinner.
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’,
Fare you well, Fare you well.
STARS BEGIN TO FALL
I TINK I hear my brudder say,
Call de nation great and small;
I lookee on de God’s right hand
When de stars begin to fall.
Oh, what a mournin’, sister,—
Oh, what a mournin’, brudder,—
Oh, what a mournin’,
When de stars begin to fall!
ROLL, JORDAN, ROLL
MY brudder sittin’ on de tree of life
An’ he yearde when Jordan roll.
Roll, Jordan,
Roll, Jordan,
Roll, Jordan, roll!
O march de angel march;
O my soul arise in Heaven, Lord,
For to yearde when Jordan roll.
Little chil’en, learn to fear de Lord,
And let your days be long.
Roll, Jordan, etc.
O let no false nor spiteful word
Be found upon your tongue.
Roll, Jordan, etc.
SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT
OH de good ole chariot swing so low,—
I don’t want to leave me behind.
O swing low, sweet chariot,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
I don’t want to leave me behind.
Oh, de good ole chariot will take us all home,—
I don’t want to leave me behind.
Swing low, sweet chariot, etc.
BRIGHT SPARKLES IN DE CHURCHYARD
MAY de Lord—He will be glad of me—
In de heaven He ’ll rejoice.
In de heaven, once,
In de heaven, twice,
In de heaven He ’ll rejoice.
Bright sparkles in de churchyard
Give light unto de tomb;
Bright summer, spring’s over,
Sweet flowers in der bloom.
My mother, once,
My mother, twice,
My mother she ’ll rejoice.
In de heaven once, etc.
Mother, rock me in de cradle all de day;—
All de day, etc.
Oh, mother, don’t yer love yer darlin’ child?
Oh, rock me in de cradle all de day.
Rock me, etc.
You may lay me down to sleep, my mother dear,
Oh, rock me in de cradle all de day.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Hymn 148
The names and titles of Christ. From several scriptures.
With cheerful voice I sing
The titles of my Lord,
And borrow all the names
Of honor from his word:
Nature and art can ne'er supply
Sufficient forms of majesty.
In Jesus we behold
His Father's glorious face,
Shining for ever bright,
With mild and lovely rays
Th' eternal God's eternal Son
Inherits and partakes the throne.]
The sovereign King of kings,
The Lord of lords most high,
Writes his own name upon
His garment and his thigh:
His name is called The Word of God;
He rules the earth with iron rod.
Where promises and grace
Can neither melt nor move,
The angry Lamb resents
The injuries of his love;
Awakes his wrath without delay,
As lions roar, and tear the prey.
But when for works of peace
The great Redeemer comes,
What gentle characters,
What titles he assumes!
Light of the world, and Life of men;
Nor will he bear those names in vain.
Immense compassion reigns
In our Immanuel's heart,
When he descends to act
A Mediator's part:
He is a Friend and Brother too;
Divinely kind, divinely true.
At length the Lord the Judge
His awful throne ascends,
And drives the rebels far
From favorites and friends:
Then shall the saints completely prove
The heights and depths of all his love.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hope Triumphant in Death
Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn -
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return,
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
Oh! then thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power!
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day -
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin,
And all the phoenix-spirit burns within!
Oh, deep enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes!
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,
It is a dread and awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun!
Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled thrust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss!
Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb!
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased, on his night-steed, by the star of day!
The strife is o'er - the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallow'd anthem, sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still
Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill!
Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doom'd, like thee, to travel and return.
Hark! from the world's exploding centre driven,
With sounds, that shook the firmament of heaven,
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,
On bickering wheels, and adamantine car:
From planet whirl'd to planet more remote,
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought:
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run,
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun!
So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;
And, o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God!
poem by Thomas Campbell
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Address To Thought
OH thou! the musing, wakeful pow'r,
That lov'st the silent, midnight hour,
Thy lonely vigils then to keep,
And banish far the angel, sleep,
With all his lovely train;
Come, pensive thought! with thee I'll rove,
Through forest wild, sequestered grove,
Or twilight plain.
The lone recluse, in hermit-cell,
With thee, oh nymph! delights to dwell;
Forsakes the world, and all its charms,
Forsakes the syren pleasure's arms,
In peaceful shades to rest;
And oft with thee, entranc'd, may hear,
Celestial voices warbling near,
Of spirits blest!
When slow declines the rosy day
And ev'ning smiles with parting ray,
When twilight spreads her magic hues,
When moon-beams tremble on the dews,
Be mine to rove retir'd;
By fairy bower, or dimpled stream,
To muse with thee some heavenly theme,
Oh! maid inspir'd!
'Tis thine on eagle-wings to soar,
Unknown, unfathom'd realms explore;
Below the deeps, above the sky,
Beyond the starry orbs on high;
(Can aught restrain thy flight?)
To pierce the veil of future time,
And rise, in Fancy's car sublime,
To realms of light:
At midnight, to the guilty breast,
Thou com'st, a fear'd, appalling guest;
While lightnings flash and thunders roll,
Accusing conscience wakes the soul,
And bids each fear increase;
And, while benignant slumber flies,
With awful voice, in whisper cries,
Farewell to peace!
But oh, dread pow'r! how sweet thy reign,
To Virtue's mild and hallow'd train!
The storm around may wildly rave,
And winter swell the mountain wave,
Yet soft their calm repose!
Their minds unruffled and serene,
And guardian-seraphs watch unseen,
Their eyes to close!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Psalm XLVI: God Is the Refuge
God is the refuge of his saints,
When storms of sharp distress invade;
Ere we can offer our complaints,
Behold him present with his aid!
Let mountains from their seats be hurled
Down to the deep, and buried there,
Convulsions shake the solid world,
Our faith shall never yield to fear.
Loud may the troubled ocean roar;
In sacred peace our souls abide;
While every nation, every shore,
Trembles, and dreads the swelling tide.
There is a stream, whose gentle flow
Supplies the city of our God,
Life, love, and joy still gliding through,
And watering our divine abode.
Zion enjoys her monarch's love,
Secure against the threatening hour;
Nor can her firm foundation move,
Built on his faithfulness and power.
Let Zion in her King rejoice,
Though Satan rage, and kingdoms rise:
He utters his almighty voice,
The nations melt, the tumult dies.
The Lord of old for Jacob fought;
And Jacob's God is still our aid:
Behold the works his hand hath wrought!
What desolations he hath made!
From sea to sea, through all their shores,
He makes the noise of battle cease;
When from on high his thunder roars,
He awes the trembling world to peace.
He breaks the bow, he cuts the spear;
Chariots he burns with heavenly flame:
Keep silence, all the earth, and hear
The sound and glory of his name:
"Be still, and learn that I am God,
Exalted over all the lands;
I will be known and feared abroad;
For still my throne in Zion stands."
O Lord of hosts, almighty King!
While we so near thy presence dwell,
Our faith shall rest secure, and sing
Defiance to the gates of hell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Sun and The Moon Of Man
The rays of the sun and moon and stars that align.
The rays of the Sun that remains as far and wide.
The rays of the Sun that gives life to those that think and plan.
The rays of the Sun, that plants the rivers so He can drink and stand.
For He is of the Sun that stood forever stark.
until the days of His unaltered ways, misled to some be, dark.
The Earth and moon and stars grow ever glum with stride.
Remember that it is Man, who prides himself glad, with sin, this ride.
Shadowy realms follow Him as He greedily stays.
Just remember this, He bathes within His own untarnished rays.
poem by Michael Gale
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Psalm 148
Proper Metre.
Praise to God from all creatures.
Ye tribes of Adam, join
With heav'n, and earth, and seas,
And offer notes divine
To your Creator's praise:
Ye holy throng
Of angels bright,
In worlds of light,
Begin the song.
Thou sun with dazzling rays,
And moon that rules the night,
Shine to your Maker's praise,
With stars of twinkling light:
His power declare,
Ye floods on high,
And clouds that fly
In empty air.
The shining worlds above
In glorious order stand,
Or in swift courses move,
By his supreme command:
He spake the word,
And all their frame
From nothing came,
To praise the Lord.
He moved their mighty wheels
In unknown ages past,
And each his word fulfils
While time and nature last:
In diff'rent ways
His works proclaim
His wondrous name,
And speak his praise.
PAUSE.
Let all the earth-born race,
And monsters of the deep
The fish that cleave the seas,
Or in their bosom sleep;
From sea and shore
Their tribute pay,
And still display
Their Maker's power.
Ye vapors, hail, and snow,
Praise ye th' almighty Lord,
And stormy winds that blow,
To execute his word:
When lightnings shine,
Or thunders roar,
Let earth adore
His hand divine.
Ye mountains near the skies,
With lofty cedars there,
And trees of humbler size,
That fruit in plenty bear;
Beasts wild and tame,
Birds, flies, and worms,
In various forms,
Exalt his name.
Ye kings and judges, fear
The Lord, the sovereign King;
And while you rule us here,
His heav'nly honors sing;
Nor let the dream
Of power and state
Make you forget
His power supreme.
Virgins and youths, engage
To sound his praise divine,
While infancy and age
Their feebler voices join:
Wide as he reigns
His name be sung
By every tongue
In endless strains.
Let all the nations fear
The God that rules above;
He brings his people near,
And makes them taste his love:
While earth and sky
Attempt his praise,
His saints shall raise
His honors high.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Remembrance
I adore the rise of moon
and the stars shining bright
bringing me your remembrance
in the solitude of night.
Moonlight seems flowery spread on earth
merging in the sea
river quenching its thirst
waves exulting in expectations
rejoice and swoon
under the moon & moonlight
when I remember you
in the solitude of night.
Decked with flowers
lass on a swing
like a cuckoo,
she then sings
and shehnai being played far off, echoing.
Hoping to meet her beloved,
she blossoms like a flower of mustard
song of separation makes love deep
her love erupts when separation seeps
all bringing me your remembrance
in the solitude of night
under the moonlight.
Putting me in trance
resonance of your voice
watching me in this state
you glow and rejoice
casting a spell, who deserts me at dawn
remembrance comes again then
under the moonlight
in the solitude of night.
I adore the rise of moon
and the stars shining bright
bringing me your remembrance
in the solitude of night.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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The Cloud Chorus
SOCRATES SPEAKS
Hither, come hither, ye Clouds renowned, and unveil yourselves
here;
Come, though ye dwell on the sacred crests of Olympian snow,
Or whether ye dance with the Nereid Choir in the gardens clear,
Or whether your golden urns are dipped in Nile's overflow,
Or whether you dwell by Maeotis mere
Or the snows of Mimas, arise! appear!
And hearken to us, and accept our gifts ere ye rise and go.
THE CLOUDS SING
Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore
Of the father of streams from the sounding sea,
Dewy and fleet, let us rise and soar;
Dewy and gleaming and fleet are we!
Let us look on the tree-clad mountain-crest,
On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice,
On the waters that murmur east and west,
On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice.
For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air,
And the bright rays gleam;
Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare
In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere
From the height of the heaven, on the land and air,
And the Ocean Stream.
Let us on, ye Maidens that bring the Rain,
Let us gaze on Pallas's citadel,
In the country of Cecrops fair and dear,
The mystic land of the holy cell,
Where the Rites unspoken securely dwell,
And the gifts of the gods that know not stain,
And a people of mortals that know not fear.
For the temples tall and the statues fair,
And the feasts of the gods are holiest there;
The feasts of Immortals, the chaplets of flowers,
And the Bromian mirth at the coming of spring,
And the musical voices that fill the hours,
And the dancing feet of the maids that sing!
poem by Aristophanes
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Power
The mighty sound of forests murmuring
In answer to the dread command;
The stars that shudder when their king
extends his hand,
His awful hand to bless, to curse; or moves
Toward the dimmest den
In the thick leaves, not known of loves
Or nymphs or men;
(Only the sylph's frail gossamer may wave
Their quiet frondage yet,
Only her dewy tears may lave
The violet;)
The mighty answer of the shaken sky
To his supreme behest; the call
Of Ibex that behold on high
Night's funeral,
And see the pale moon quiver and depart
Far beyond space, the sun ascend
And draw earth's globe unto his heart
To make an end;
The shriek of startled birds; the sobs that tear
With sudden terror the sharp sea
That slept, and wove its golden hair
Most mournfully;
The rending of the earth at his command
Who wields the wrath of heaven, and is dumb;
Hell starts up - and before his hand
Is overcome.
I heard these voices, and beheld afar
These dread works wrought at his behest:
And on his forehead, lo! a star,
And on his breast.
And on his feet I knew the sandals were
More beautiful than flame, and white,
And on the glory of his hair
The crown of night.
And I beheld his robe, and on its hem
Were writ unlawful words to say,
Broidered like lilies, with a gem
More clear than day.
And round him shone so wonderful a light
As when on Galilee
Jesus once walked, and clove the night,
And calmed the sea.
I scarce could see his features for the fire
That dwelt about his brow,
Yet, for the whiteness of my own desire,
I see him now;
Because my footsteps follow his, and tread
The awful bounds of heaven, and make
The very graves yield up their dead,
And high thrones shake;
Because my eyes still steadily behold
And dazzle not, nor shun the night,
The foam - born lamp of beaten gold
And secret might;
Because my forehead bears the sacred Name,
And my lips bear the brand
Of Him whose heaven is one flame,
Whose holy hand
Gathers this earth, who built the vaults of space,
Moulded the stars, and fixed the iron sea,
Because His love lights through my face
And all of me.
Because my hand may fasten on the sword
Of my heart falter not, and smite
Those lampless limits most abhorred
Of iron night,
And pass beyond their horror to attack
Fresh foemen, light and truth to bring
Through their untrodden fields of black,
A victor king.
I know all must be well, all must be free;
I know God as I know a friend;
I conquer, and most silently
Await the end.
poem by Aleister Crowley
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To the Stars
What beholds
In my sight
My lover in the night
That she may sleep
In inner peace
Atop a bed of fleece
And how cruel of me
To confess
Of her long purple dress
We gazed upon the night sky
All of who we may try
And as we met each other's eyes
With love, to the stars we shall rise
And what is
My temptation
To ignore my condemnation
And how
Can I stay sane
Within a field of shame
We gazed upon the night sky
All of who we may try
And as we met each other's eyes
With love, to the stars we shall rise
As you gaze
Fixed upon the stars
All of who you are
Is revealed
Unto me
And I couldn't see
So I confess
Nontheless
Like a small bird in nest
In her long purple dress
We gazed upon the night sky
All of who we may try
And as we met each other's eyes
With love, to the stars we shall rise
And if I
May so hear
An unpleasant
To awake
To the news
Of one gone I would not lose
To know the one
In the dress
Is nothing now but dead
Then how can I live
With this utter feeling of dread
And as I gaze upon the night sky
All of who I may try
And as I close my tired eyes
With love, to you I shall rise
poem by Pete Rivera
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