A Glimpse of Heaven (Sestina)
© S T Lloyd October 2012
He’ll gather the multitude of the ransomed
Where the streets are purest gold
In a land where no one shall ever grow old
And where burdens we’ll carry no more
When we meet on heaven’s shore
When Jesus takes us there
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The light of His glory will shine there
As He walks among His ransomed
On the banks of that beautiful shore
His blood-bought jewels more precious than gold
Shall abide with Him now and forever more
Where their joy and wonder will never wax old
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No more memory of the struggles of old,
Nor burdens we carried down there,
Only feasting on the delights of plenty in a place where there’ll always be more,
In gratitude we fall before Him, humbled and thankful children ransomed,
Our countenance glows as His does, eclipsing the shimmering gold
Like the glitter of the wind-swept water, there on that beautiful shore
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Among us are those who stood before the human Jesus on Galilee’s shore
Having been there thousands of years already, though none have begun to get old
What wouldn’t they trade, of the choices they made, those whose preference was for Earthly gold?
What horror I saw on their faces below, as He swept us up and left them there
The invitation was extended to all, to answer His call, and be among the ransomed
But the day of Grace is extended no more
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The sorrow and suffering we cannot know, of those pursued by Jesus no more.
Theirs an agonizing comprehension, when dragged by reptilic claws onto that other shore
Of that lake of fire, where they shall recall the words of that bothersome ransomed
Who warned them and showed them the words of the Sacred Book of old
And shall woefully mourn their flippant disdain, and casual dismissal of warnings there
Rebelliously clinging to Earthly pleasures, and the physical treasures of Earthly gold
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Alchemy practiced o’er ancient mysteries, greedily prospected the devil’s “fool’s gold”
Ever reaching higher, strove to break their bands asunder, and obain some ever- illusive “more”
Fumbling blind in futile aspiration of conq’ring God’s own throne, seating Self there.
Oh dreadful stench, vile river of sin, only death and decay do litter yon shore
Where beauty and youth, weighed by remorse, quickly ages decrepit, eternally old
Isolated torment, one solitary window, peers into heaven, to see the shining ransomed
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See those who prayed, pled with tears, and warned, now strolling atop streets of gold clear as glass. There across that unbreachable divide, whole and happy on that distant Heavenly shore
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If only God would turn back time, give one moment more, oh how mistaken, how arrogantly they lived in that temporal, crumbling world of old. Oh just to sip the cool water of that sustaining river up there. What crushing regret, bowing to King Jesus, King of all Kings, never to be counted among the ransomed.
Serve Him in the Waiting 