Saturday, February 03, 2007
© 2007 Nina Camic All rights reserved.
The bones of the ancestors hither and yon
With patience await a particular dawn
When dressed in new raiment of flesh on their frames
Will rise from their graves to remember their names.
And what will they find in such terrible hours?
No fish in the waters, nor birds in the bowers;
Before the Son comes to spread peace in his path
He'll summon from heaven a War-God of wrath.
The green seas will boil, and pale skies glow red
As trumpets of archangels, rousing the dead,
Awaken their souls and their bodies as well
To march in the armies of heaven and hell.
And curious what the commotion's about,
The new resurrected will rise up and shout;
The main of them bound for the blackest abyss,
Except for such few as are fated for bliss.
But now in their homes the dead peacefully sleep
Beneath some green hillside, or cast in the deep,
With sad weathered headstones close marshalled in rows,
Or graved in old meadows, where grass only knows.
Awaiting their day of rebuke or reward,
When Day of all Days brings the Lamb with His sword,
Now all that remains of the worst and the best,
The bones pass the ages content in their rest.
© 2007 Jeffrey Hull