The Trumpets Of Heaven

A silver cry is calling from a height
Leaving the awful pause that follows song,
And through the silence shines a stretching light-
A stretching light that quietly runs along
The path of stars, and pierces cloud on cloud.
Pure things in space across the guiltless sky
Rustle with wings that bear in flight the proud
Revenge of God, with God's intensity.
Among the lighted ways-to move unheard,-
A great-unseen assembly seems to shine
To gather silently in line on line,
And wait and wait for some expected word,
A call on the height! And from the blinding skies
Come white battalions with their blinding eyes.

by Leon Gellert

Other poems of LEON GELLERT (81)

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