Poetry

---

Written 10-07-05

It was the year the king had died,
The nation mourned with great despair;
To the temple, I sought to hide;
Where vision came, myself unaware.

I saw His throne lifted high;
The train of His glory filled the room;
Seraphs before Him, flew close by,
Their voices resounded with a boom.
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord,
His glory fills the whole earth;
He alone is worthy to be adored,
Praise Him with honor in holy mirth!”

The doorposts and thresholds shook with dread;
The temple was filled with unearthly smoke;
I myself was struck sudden as dead,
I was speaking words with a choke,
“Woe is me, I am so ruined!
I’m a man with lips unclean,
Among a people who’ve greatly sinned;
In His eyes, so very mean!”

A seraph came, to me, with a coal,
And with it, He touched my lips;
“Your guilt’s removed, you are now whole,
No longer unclean, are your lips.”

Then the Lord spoke, to my delight
“Whom shall I send? Who’ll go for Us?”
I shouted, “Send me!” with renewed might,
“For You alone have raised me from dust.”

The king must die, that I might live,
To see how great my Lord God is;
And I must see how small I am,
And go to Him for divine bliss.


Isaiah 6:1-8

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE