A fine sister sent me a poem that she wrote some time ago, and I asked her for her permission to share it with you. She agreed and please do read it. Whenever someone sends me something to read, I feel duty-bound to “like it”, because obviously the person who sent it valued the information highly. So when I started this poem I had that “I must like this” burden rising within my mind.
Until I finished it.
There is something alive, loving and holy in this poem. Even now, a week later writing about it, I have tears in my eyes. This poem is beautiful, moving and peace is in it. That is what I experience – peace.
Below is her email and her poem:
“I have had several visions over the years, the main one I want to share was of the Rapture and I wrote the poem below; the Lord has told me that I will live to see all that he has shared with me; I’m 75
‘Earth in all her glory hangs suspended from the Creator hand.
Slowly, silently she revolves, urged on by the winds from heaven.
A jewel, set against the black cushion of a velvet universe.
Her beauty veiled and revealed by shifting patterns of cloud.
Who knows her time? Is it now?
Trumpet peals of light are piercing through the darkness of the night,
They reveal an opening in heaven, from which emit rays of living light.
Streams of angels pour in multitudes upon the Earth,
Cascading down, in flowing ribbons of Shekinah might.
Myriad upon myriad, stationed at her feet,
Glowing circles, pulsating bright, twin anklets of light.
At the word, inward moving, hands outstretched, reaching in,
Catching hold of saints concealed in caves and graves of old.
Sweeping clean the seven seas of her treasure-trove.
Lifting streams of resurrected saints to glory,
Around and around they fly,
Encircling the Earth in robes of ethereal light,
They arise, they arise!
Looking up, they hear the rushing of the wings of angels bold,
Living saints are now enfolded in the arms of angelic hosts.
Ascending, they harvest the Earth and leave her mourning.
Slowly now they rise, gently circling.
A coronet formed resplendent, for Majesty descending.
All glory abides in Him.
Bowing down before their maker, drifting upward now ascending.
The tear in heaven is restored and inky darkness hides Earth’s tears.
No more to see the saints in glory,
Rejoicing at their Wedding feast!
GM Linder © 2006