The Ranks of Angels: Sacred Poetry
by Cosmic Poet Simon Pole
Trans Solar World Battery image by Joe Haput CC BY-SA
The Ranks of Angels
Do you hear the angels sing?
In circle wide, endless rings,
Ranks which wrap the throne around,
From here to horizon wound,
With angelic lung and throat,
Repeating their basic rote:
“Holy is the God of hosts,
Our creator, and our boast,
To adore him are we made.
In his glory without shade,
Exercising here our choice,
Do we stand, with blended voice
Expressing our in-built urge,
Instead of the selfish dirge,
The tiny but constant drone
Which diverts us from the throne.
But together we it drown
In these anthems which resound.”
“Then behind us others dance,
As befits their circumstance,
Each reacting in their way,
In the bright, eternal day,
To the answer, and its call,
The love which flows on that mall,
From the centre to the rim,
From the edges back to Him:
Our completeness thus fulfilled,
Which into the world will spill,
And creation total rock,
All its people, and its stock
Of mammals, birds, reptiles too,
Everything that secret knew
There was a God, and he lived,
And to him they worship give,
Not from fear, or for favour—
It’s fellowship they savour.”
“At the back, our final rows:
Quiet angels who would know
What from God can be derived,
The colour blue, bees in hives,
All the order of the Earth,
And the heavens, where there birthed,
In the oven of the stars,
The elements scattered far
Throughout time, to be combined
In the people, intertwined
With their garden, while we here
Proclaim joy beyond their ears,
And exalt, beyond their sight,
The good Lord’s sustaining might,
Happy while we future look
To days soon, or distant booked,
When those colleagues will arrive,
And with us in glory thrive.”
From the Like a Lamb collection.