With the dawn of a new church year, we have launched a new feature on our website, a weekly post of poetry that resonates with the lectionary readings for that week.
*** Revised Common Lectionary ***
Isaiah 65:17-25 and Isaiah 12
An Other Song of the Faithful
Lord, at thy voice, my heart for feare hath trembled,
Unto the world (Lord) let thy workes be showen:
In these our daies now let thy power be knowen,
And yet in wrath let mercie be remembred.
From Teman loe, our God you may behold,
The holie one from Paran mount so hie:
His glorie hath cleane covered the Skie,
And in the earth his praises be inrolde.
His shining was more clearer than the light,
And from his hands a fulnesse did proceed,
Which did contain his wrath and power indeed.
Consuming plagues and fire were in his sight.
He stood aloft and compassed the land,
And of the Nations doth defusion make,
The mountains rent, the hilles for feare did quake,
His unknown pathes no man may understand.
The Morians tentes even for their wickednes,
I might behold the land of Midian :
Amaz’d and trembling like unto a man,
Forsaken quite, and left in great distresse:
What, did the rivers move the Lord to ire?
Or did the floods his Majesty displease:
Or was the Lord offended with the seas,
That thou camest forth in chariot hot as fire.
Thy force and power thou freely didst relate,
Unto the tribes thy oath doth surely stand,
And by thy strength thou didst devide the land,
And from the earth the rivers seperate.
The mountaines saw, and trembled for feare,
The sturdy streame, with speed foorth passed by,
The mighty depthes shout out a hideous crie,
And then aloft their waves they did upreare.
The Sun and Moon amid their course stood still,
Thy speares and arrowes forth with shining went,
Thou spoilest the land, being to anger bent,
And in displeasure thou didst slay and kill.
Thou wentest foorth for thine owne chosens sake,
For the savegard of thine annointed one:
The house of wicked men is overthrowne,
And their foundations now goe all to wracke.
Their townes thou strikest by thy mightie power,
With their own weapons, made for their defence:
Who like a whyrl-wind came with the pretence,
The poore and simple man quite to devoure.
Thou madest thy horse on seas to gallop fast.
Upon the waves thou ridest here and there:
My intrals trembled then for verie feare,
And at thy voice, my lips shooke at the last.
Griefe pierc’d my bones, and feare did me annoy,
In time of trouble, where I might find rest:
For to revenge, when once the Lord is prest,
With plagues he wil the people quite destroy.
The fig-tree now no more shall sprout nor flourish,
The pleasant vine no more with grapes abound:
No pleasure in the citie shall be found:
The field no more her fruit shal feed nor nourish.
The sheep shall now be taken from the fold,
In stall of Bullocks there shall be no choice.
Yet in the Lord my Saviour I rejoice,
My hope in God yet wil I surely hold.
God is my strength, the Lord my only stay,
My feet for swiftnesse, it is he will make
Like to the Hinds, who none in course can take:
Upon high places he will make me way.
*** This poem is in the public domain,
and may be read in a live-streamed worship service.
On Falling Asleep by Firelight
Around the fireplace, pointing at the fire,
As in the prophet’s dream of the last truce,
Reading for the Common Good
From ERB Editor Christopher Smith
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