Cast and So Sent
You, Son of Man, before one man was cast
in clay and Breath, cast Your majestic guise
among Your sons, elect; there sight-full eyes
might apprehend Your awful type and vast.
You are the Rock; the struck-stone, stumbling-stone
unfit for babbling mortals' overreach,
yet siege is raised from You against the breach.
Your bride, her sword in hand, names You her own.
You are the Fisherman; in salty shoals
You brothers in Your grace-spun nets possess,
and multiply in baskets of excess
when served, with broken bread, to famished souls.
You are the Right-hand placed, the honored-seat;
of many brothers first, best-loved, most due.
Though fire and judgment fall, Your blood is true -
In You we die, in You arise complete.
You are Beloved, Bishop of these souls
who, exiled, dream beyond her welcome gates -
Jerusalem! To run to you! Your great
Word thund'ring claims all spheres and kingdoms whole.
You are the Shepherd of ten thousand flocks;
lost lambs, wild rams You feed abundantly.
They know Your voice and, called, the Father see,
well watered in the wastes and desert walks.
You are the Sower, feet stained dark with earth
between the furrows ere foundation torn.
Fig-shaded Word, searched deeply, swallowed, worn,
offends deceit; spread-seed of rich rebirth.
You are the Faith; our doubt is mortified
by iron, thorn, and steel. Your chasmal gore
rewards all trust unseen with hope, and more,
in such souls blest to follow, crucified.
You are the Reaper, harvesting the grain,
forth drawing thence the levy due Your throne,
and from that tithe what sinner's-feast is thrown
finds all partakers struck of guilt and stain.
You are the Least, a servant humbly dwelt,
with calloused hands, in flesh and towel girt,
but God cuts stones of worth from lesser dirt,
exalts the low, and raises up the knelt.
You are the Lion. Triumph in Your roar
reveals to Your won tribe Your majesty
and melts their hearts who have no eyes to see,
nor ears to hear, scattered and driv'n before.
You are the Flame; that all-consuming zeal
affords no other Lord, nor law, nor love.
To will one thing, Your very self above
all else remains pure souls' delight and weal.
You are the Goat; beyond the city gates
You, cursèd, carry scornful treachery
to suffer, die impaled upon the tree:
ere first Word's sterling utterance Your fate.
You are the Lamb, the One who takes our place
and bears our lot, while we Your witness bear.
In task direct our hands, our lips in prayer
through water, dust, and air with present grace.
You are the Word of God sent forth in strength,
yet hosted in a little jar of clay -
sent forth, until that doom-full Trumpet-Day,
to tribe and tongue through all Earth's breadth and length.
You, Son of God, to Your own precious frame
call every saint to be conformed, that men
might see Your face, Your Father's face, and then
cast down their crowns and bless Your holy Name.
Ravus Caelum / AMDG / 9/19/13
New poem! There will be a prize involved for the first person who can correctly identify the vehicle I used to convey the conceit (by which i mean explain the rationale behind the order and the content of the stanzas). As always, enjoy the poem, and feel free to leave comments.