The Hope of Seers

By: A.J. Thompson

Wilt He Who Is, the Amaranthine Bough,

Ere ‘bating arctic stars of twenty twain,

Draw dovish plumage drawn from Noah’s prow,

Abashéd tongue bestrewed by Babel’s Bane?

Wilt Abram’s Star of Stars descend from ‘loft,

And ruefully discern Jer’miah’s plaint,

Amidst the ashen city sullied frost,

The scheme of fiends and guards insouciant quaint?

Thy vigor past renew by fast preclude,

Unfasten not thy burden changed for rest,

For yonder wooden rood, ‘yond east winds shrewd,

Hath felt the costly nard in Mary’s tress.

In thee wilt He, O Shekinah’s abode,

‘Midst wine entwine thee, hallowed bride betrothed.


Image: rationalfaiths.com