I did not see the Smith,
But His forge would not be missed
As the light of day He lifted
And the sky with searing colors hissed
The glowing sun was scattered
Like red-orange coals in His forge
Upon the hearth they brightened
Over the earth and heaven gorge
No sound was heard of metal ringing
As this day was made,
For the forging done was heavenly
And the metal, willing clay
As the furnace slowly cooled
The sky grew gently bright
The fiery coals of heaven,
Now clouds of purest white
I looked hard to see the hand
That wrought this day of worth
The happy one who forged this Land
But never found His Mirth
So I walked on into the day
To gather all the wonder made,
And like all other days, I knew,
This one would soon, find its shade
The day now closing as He lowered
His light back to earth
The sky turns from white to gold
As He ignites the evening Hearth
His work, His day, He melts away
And cools it through the night,
So all the tensions in the steel
With rest, He sets aright
I’m still in awe at this furnace in the sky,
And what the coals were first fired by?
And how was all this done
Then from heart came soulish whisper
“It was lighted by the Son”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem