Trumpets

 

Trumpets

Trumpets on a vine
Orange glory within green
Along a wooden fence line
Meant for all to see

Miniatures to be sure
In silence they are strung
Muted, without a cure
Simply for my eye’s joy
Have they all been hung

Imbued with intense color
Meant to capture our attention
Will we stop to hear their message
& its silent reminder not to shun?

Of a day in history’s future
Of a Lord returning in glory
Before He arrives to meet us
A trumpet’s loud call will sound
His story

Of majesty, purity, love
And judgement
All will bow, bend the knee
Every eye at last to see
This, His truest face of grace

I wonder,
Will these smaller trumpets
Be allowed at last to join
Their larger brother’s voice
To herald a new world
As all nature sings to rejoice

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