Monday, August 20, 2012

Evening Vesper


It tips against the evening sky
The edge of Time and all its girth
A crimson-tinted lullaby
In breathless nuance bathes the earth
The progress of man’s centuries
Lies mute ‘neath Eden’s unmarred dome
As Heaven spills its mysteries
In foreshadows of things to come

Man cannot blemish heaven’s floor
The thief of hours cannot steal
The brush from He who holds the Door
Through which vague shades of glory peal
It fingers twilight’s solitude
In pure and unrestrained caress
A timeless masterpiece renewed
In sundry tones of awesomeness

The sheaves of harvest deck the sod
As just and unjust taste its fare
The wondrous handiwork of God
Spills freely on the evening air
Unto its breadth we lift our eyes
A glorious and gilded scrim
Twixt toil and tears and Paradise
We behold whispers of Him

© Janet Martin

The heavens declare the glory of God;
    the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
    night after night they reveal knowledge.  
 They have no speech, they use no words;
    no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
    their words to the ends of the world.
In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.
    It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
    like a champion rejoicing to run his course. 
 It rises at one end of the heavens
    and makes its circuit to the other;
    nothing is deprived of its warmth.

Psalms 19:1-6
 




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