A word, a vision given in the night:
Among the myrtle, horses snowy-white,
And, with them, standing still, arrayed the same,
A man, with shining face, who knew my name.
Then, filled with fear and awe, I raised my voice
To ask if I should sorrow or rejoice,
To ask the angel standing in the trees.
He answered me: “We see the nations’ ease,
We, who patrol the earth. They live in rest.”
“And what,” he cried, “will come upon the blessed?”
I saw that even angels plead for grace
When worry such as this alit his face.
I shared his grief a moment, then we heard
A kinder, stronger voice that spoke a word
Of judgment, jealousy, both from the Lord,
But also told of God’s own house restored,
And, for his people, mercy. For the world,
A wave of justice, being now unfurled.
