Of His Creation
When Thou felt the time ripe,
And Thy forces, all together,
The Creation began, with Thy Holy Breath,
And flowed in knots beneath;
Then began the latent churning motion,
That brought into existence
And all matter thence.
Thus the Creation, stood fulfilled,
And The Spirit Of Life flowed
Through our world and worlds unknown,
That we made our abode;
From Creatures huge to creatures small,
Bow to Thy magnificence,
Heed to your call,
Crave for Thy Holy Self, in their persistence.
For years long, they have walked by the side of Thee,
Longing to be as close as they ought to be,
Except Thyself, nothing could they see,
And Thy nearness, was their glee.
Thy Children, of whom Thou care,
Now, of the path, which they once walked with Thee, are astray,
Deny Thy very being,
Ignorant of the true way;
Thou world hath, now, many a greed,
That were now paid heed,
Of ghastly thoughts,
Was laid now a seed;
Requisition, was not, for time,
For the seed, promptly grew,
This was but the commencement of the first crime;
Saved, were only a few.
Now, we remain,
Feared of the worse,
Our toils, were but in vain;
For our brothers, burdened with this curse.
Known was that came all, from nothing,
And shalt merge into nothing,
Thy remembrance, permits not their pride,
They hath, now, placed Thou aside.
My humble self bespeaks,
Thee to bring Thy self to our world ignorant,
In a form befitting us,
And Light up again Thy childrens' souls of the spiritual knowledge, which lang syne Thou had lent.
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Comments about this poem (Of His Creation by Vincent Barrowcliffe )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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