The King Will Come

The King Will Come

The silver moon
like a little troubadour,
stands boldly
between two clouds
(like Angel Wings).

Do not listen
to those tales of love
that travelers tell,
He says:
seek only Him
who put Marigolds,
Magnolias and Lilacs
and gentle buds of yellow and green
into spring;
He who made millions and billions
and trillions of stars
(shining, twinkling, tinkling and dancing).

Angels pluck their harps and lutes
and blow their breath of light
through flutes and horns
and double reeds.

Or He comes like a lion
With His mantle so gold,
shimmering and shining
In His chariot of dawn:

With light through a window
and on stubble of fields,
through clouds
and through leaves
of newly clothed trees.
He runs with the wind
and laughs with the waves
that clap and crash
and curl off the sea –

He comes,
He sings,
He hums,
He is!

– Sadhak Hearst.

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