Happy We Hallow: Sacred Poetry

by Cosmic Poet Simon Pole

Trans Solar World Battery image by Joe Haput CC BY-SA

Happy We Hallow

Happy we hallow this stiffening clay
Preserving it for the hastening day,
By means underground, immaculate tombs
Which function thereby as marble-walled wombs,
When earth’s dome is cracked, and Gabriel’s horn
Summons all matter in power reborn,
Then shall it issue, that body at rest,
Which we had interred with glad-tears invest,
In a new forming, like infants who gleam
And giggle fresh-facèd, mothers who beam
Look on with approval—that would be God,
Along with the angels, those who had trod
This ripening earth, both hither and there,
Shepherding humans with brotherly care:
All will be present, all hands will applaud
New man emerging, who fervently lauds
His glare-blinking dawn in light of the Son,
That bright-shining king, and every last one,
All who have suffered, succumbed and laid down,
And those still alive, whom flooding care drowns,
Shall then receive justice, each dram and dose
By that perfect judge who draws them all close;
And those who were wicked, unshriven cheats,
Shall find them no harbour, no honoured seats
Beside the throne solid on which to rest,
No exquisite hymns with which to be blessed
As they are sung out by angel and man
Which welcomes the age, where always will stand
The promise of God: forever he said,
As sworn by the first who rose from the dead,
My house shall endure, this whole universe,
Renewed, replenished, and with it the curse
Of Adam’s first failing, doom shared with Eve
Which unstilled the arm and harrowing reave
Of dagger-toothed death, in weeds black and spare,
Will in beyance be put, no more the snares
He baited for us, the sin-ladled traps,
Will on the unwary collapse and snap;
Ah yes, skulking Death, we bid thee adieu
As unveiled in glory, large to the view,
There blossoms that tree of lost Paradise
Which once sheltered us, before reared the vice
And egos rebellious, but here we pause:
Have chastised we Death with counterfeit cause?
A help is he not, an able midwife
Who hastens our birth from turmoil to life?
Who the curtain closes, rings in the dance,
As those who were morbid awake, and prance,
And call out with joy to those standing by
That Jesus departed, who took the sky,
Had spoke to us right, beyond this gray pall,
Beyond weeping churches, funeral halls,
Where pack the living to mourn those thought dead,
A gorgeous green meadow rises instead,
And here we gather, those ancient, those new,
Those in groups crossing, those coming as few:
Death lets us enter, through Death will we wait
That fully new planet Jesus creates;
So as we water this husk with our tears,
Our eyes weeping red, our minds seized with fears,
Let us remember, how sweet the Lord’s breath,
That to us returns, the present of Death.

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From the Like a Lamb collection.