Poetry

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Comes A Harvest out of Season
a harvest of souls that fall away
mistake the first bright morning star
for good fruit of latter rain

Behold A Harvest out of Season
the famine today is not for grain yet
starving for the true word of God
spirits suffer hunger pains

Oh, a king will come yet,
Christ shall follow
remain Christ servant; be not deceived
O’ patient watchman – virgin witness –
former rains shall sprout good seed

Comes A Harvest out of Season
reaping chaff not God’s grain
beware the first bright morning star
bringeth not good fruit of latter rain

Heaven shakes God’s fallen angels
Michael kicks God’s baneful king
onto this earth to tend his garden
his harvest of untimely figs!

Thus, Six Trumpets sound upon the wind!
six Vials pour upon the land!
fallen from grace – the Sixth Seal opens!
this number marks The unholy man!

Two in the field – one is taken
five of ten virgins cry
mistaking this first king as Christ
dreaming
he
will make their souls to fly!

O’, what worth have dreams against God’s truth?
what value hath chaff unto the wheat?
-– four winds cast forth God’s cup of wrath
upon those numbered by The Beast.

Hear the lash of the winnowing fan
beating upon the thrashing floor
God’s fire burns the blackened tare
Behold!
His harvest shall be pure once more.

Two candle lamps burn bright God’s oil
they alone shall remain
sing with them “The Song of Moses”
glory unto The True Christ King!

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A mountain of Stone shall crush ten toes
ten horns broken fall to pieces

While today the harlot yet rides The Beast
heralding A Harvest out of Season!


T. M. Lowry
2/20/2002
Copyright © 2002

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