Tuesday, 13 October 2009


When the midnight cry goes up
Above all we have and hold
And a thousand rushing winds
Swirl about the soul -
When stout hearts break for fear
At this sudden visit down
A King of glory to descend
A world to bend beneath his crown-
When all the seas will vomit
Their briny store of dead
And earth itself surrenders
Those long interred in it…
Then as old is conquered
And new is blossomed out
This aching world will weary bow
And find all mysteries out -
When lion and lamb lie down
When gun and bomb dissolve
And stony hearts become
Bounding hearts of love
Wont that be the day
That will
Wont that be the day.
Gerard O'Shea


Antoin said...

Excellent poem

Brian said...

Ger, commentator, gardener and now a poet! A man of many talents. Can you cook?
(Thought the poem a bit morbid though)

Dew of Hermon said...

Hi Brian
Cooking....now theres an idea, maybe a 'Stew of Hermon' blog ? The poem is actually very optimistic...bombs dissolving, mysteries revealing and all that !

Tony said...

Lovely poem!