Posts Tagged ‘Creation’

Infinity, when all things it beheld,
In nothing, and of nothing all did build,
Upon what base was fixed the lath, wherein
He turned this globe, and riggalled it so trim?
Who blew the bellows of his furnace vast?
Or held the mold wherein the world was cast?
Who laid its cornerstone? Or whose command?
Where stand the pillars upon which it stands?
Who laced and filleted the earth so fine,
With rivers like green ribbons smaragdine?
Who made the seas its selvage, and it locks
Like a quilt ball within a silver box?
Who spread its canopy? Or curtains spun?
Who in this bowling alley bowled the sun?
Who made it always when it rises set:
To go at once both down, and up to get?
Who the curtain rods made for this tapestry?
Who hung the twinkling lanthorns in the sky?
Who? who did this? or who is he? Why, know
It’s only Might Almighty this did do.
His hand hath made this noble work which stands
His glorious handiwork not made by hands.
Who spake all things from nothing; and with ease
Can speak all things to nothing, if he please.
Whose little finger at his pleasure can
Out mete ten thousand worlds with half a span:
Whose might almighty can by half a looks
Root up the rocks and rock the hills by the roots.
Can take this mighty world up in his hand,
And shake it like a squitchen or a wand.
Whose single frown will make the heavens shake.
Like as an aspen leaf the wind makes quake?
Oh! what a might is this! Whose single frown
Doth shake the world as it would shake it down?
Which all from nothing fet, from nothing, all:
Hath all on nothing set, lets nothing fall.
Gave all to nothing man indeed, whereby
Through nothing man all might him glorify,
In nothing is embossed the brightest gem
More precious than all preciousness in them.
But nothing man did throw down all by sin:
And darkened that lightsome gem in him,
That now his brightest diamond is grown
Darker by far than any coalpit stone.



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The Descent From The Cross

Is this the Face that thrills with awe
Seraphs who veil their face above?
Is this the Face without a flaw,
The face that is the Face of love?
Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod,
Hath all creation’s love sufficed,
Hath satisfied the love of God,
This Face the Face of Jesus Christ.


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…………………The Higher Pantheism

The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains –
Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns? 

Is not the Vision He? tho’ He be not that which He seems?
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams? 

Earth, these solid stars, this weight of body and limb,
Are they not (sign and symbol) of thy division from Him? 

Dark is the world to thee: thyself ar the reason why;
For is He not all but that which has power to feel “I am I”? 

Glory about thee, without thee; and thou fulfillest thy doom
Making Him broken gleams, and a stifled splendour and gloom. 

Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet –
Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet. 

God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice,
For if He thunder by law the thunder is yet His voice. 

Law is God, say some: no God at all, says the fool,
For all we have power to see is a straight staff bent in a pool; 

And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see;
But if we could see and hear, this Vision – were it not He?


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The World

O Earth! thou hast not any wind that blows
Which is not music; every weed of thine
Pressed rightly flows in aromatic wine;
And every humble hedgerow flower that grows,
And every little brown bird that doth sing,
Hath something greater than itself, and bears
A living Word to every living thing,
Albeit it hold the Message unawares.
All shapes and sounds have something which is not
Of them: a Spirit broods amid the grass;
Vague outlines of the Everlasting Thought
Lie in the melting shadows as they pass;
The touch of an Eternal Presence thrills
The fringes of the sunsets and the hills.


photo by Cristiano Galbiati at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nII2wOQ/Svartifoss+2

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That day, when there was not a day, but Time
   Was on the verge of stepping on the stage,
The host of heaven held its holy rime
    To see the Word on history’s first page. 

When all was naught, the sudden glory shown.
    Awe struck.  They gasped, and emptied wonder’s purse.
Their shout and song reached heaven’s golden throne,
    Crescendos washing baby universe.     

The ages pass; I come into the scene.
   With cues, asides, I have my tiny part.
The things which come before me I can glean;
    I reap the wonders for the human heart. 

The watchers watch me now.  When morning wakes,
    They see I see the sun.  The splendor spreads
Like floods of paint, and pools in yonder lakes
    Of orange sky-puddles, purple clouds, and reds.  

I marvel at the scene, spectacular!
    The angels think of what they can’t forget
And speak of me in my vernacular,
    With laughs, “He ain’t seen nothing yet.”


photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mVErmjU/Spiral+Galaxy


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.


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