The Courts Of Heaven (Extract) Poem by john coldwell

The courts of heaven and their hosts sublime,
Unbound of spatial form and passing time,
With eternal spirit raise symphonic chime,
To the glories of the Almighty One.
Who's force doth surge and flow in endless power,
This creation's glory a mere passing hour,
Among a myriad more in constant flower,
In those great halls of heaven.

Along this glorious astral strand,
The spirit, divine justice stands,
Or arching height, and mighty hand,
to hold the sword, two edged, at ready.
No works of man from him conceal,
Who's flaming eyes all truth reveal,
and in equity to all doth deal
Their final day of judgement.

And metre out the wage of recompense,
Heaven's bliss or of hellish penitence,
Regardless of their startled countenance,
And futile protestations.
Think not that he who he holds such gravity,
And who seals to each a last finality,
To which none can claim as travesty,
Knows not the frailty of their souls.

And so we see him lost in deep abstraction,
A pondering, a curious inaction,
from him who holds eternal sanction,
Can there be such hesitation?
But Justice thinks of the world of men,
Who's minds are set like children in a den,
who imagine nought exists besides,
Their childish imaginings and confides,
Their made up world of fantasy.


Forgetful they, who must obey,
The final call of judgement day!