The Pulpit

The Pulpit…

Is the cup that holds that fleeting draft

Of those who wrangle

The eternal debate

Of The Eternal Word –

A cradle to hold those new-born breaths

That herald the presence

Of a mortal mind

As it seeks The Truth.

In the practical ways

Of plank with post,

A material constant through perils and change,

Is the Pulpit -

For a pulpit ignores

The victories of kings,

Their rise and fall,

And the terminal sigh

Of queens, of princes,

Of people.

But it always makes known

The Thoughts of Ages,

Of different times -

And yet may it echo that steadfast voice

That lived on Earth

But breathed and spoke

From the pulpit of Heaven.

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