Poetry

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By His Mighty Hand

Beyond the great Celestial Plain
There dwells a living Throne.
Constructed not by human hands
Like-craftsmanship unknown.

Neither silk nor tufted velvet
Adorn this regal chaise.
No ebony, or plated gold--
Veneered with stardust glaze.

Nails nor glue encase its frame,
On legs she does not rest.
Her height and breadth are measured not,
Far reaching east to west.

The thoughts of man, so unlike His
Creation bears this truth.
Confined within this house of clay,
our blinded eyes aloof.

Isaiah penned it long ago
The heavens are my throne.
The Earth, my feet a place to rest
All things I made alone.

What house of Mine was built by man?
I dwell within the heart.
A spirit broken and contrite,
I’ve longed for from the start.

God is a spirit, not a man.
His power does command
The wind, the waves, tsunami’s might
Created by His hand.

Our eyes though dimly now they see
One day the scales shall flee.
When Jesus comes to claim His Bride
Then through His eyes we’ll see.


John Wark 2010.

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