The New Jerusalem

The New Jerusalem So close to home in the copse on the hill My horse and I, weary and cold. The snow has stopped, the air is still, And bitter frost has taken hold. From branches above trickles of snow; I pause and brush the ice from my hair And see our village laid out below. So cold our breath it hangs in the air. “The day is long and bitter cold.” My horse, he shies at the voice we hear. Surprised, I see the man by the fold; Once more my eyes are held by the seer. He spoke to me in a voice so firm: “I expected to see you here again, I have more to tell of wonders anew;” My horse responds with a shake of his mane. “I saw heaven and earth renewed”, He said. - Now seized by shock am I. “A Holy City, a new Jerusalem.” I sat and gaped; he fixed my eye. “He said: ‘These words are trusty and true No death, no mourning, all tears will be dried’” Transfixed I sat; a bitter wind now blew. “To me he said ‘I will show you the bride.’” “I was carried in the Spirit to a mountain so high. To see the Holy City from heaven descend, Resplendent with jasper, jacinth and sapphire, And roadways paved with gold so pure.” My horse, he trembled and pawed the snow; And I, I shivered, and felt confused. His words were true, and this I know, In turmoil my thoughts became bemused. “The city shone with the glory of God; It gave its light with the lamp of the Lamb. But only those whose names are written In the Book of Life can enter within. And by its light the nations will walk; The order that was has passed away.” I listen in wonder to hear his talk Of miraculous happenings and times to come. The wind now stirs; it drifts the snow, The old man’s visions, amazing they are. What do they mean? But this I know This seer of old, from time long past, Has made me brood and think perchance Of treasures I have and life I lead. Away I look; then down I glance - The man has gone, I’m troubled indeed. My horse now trembles; I shiver with cold, The copse I leave, pondering anew; What was it he meant, this mystic of old? What is this city? What was it he knew? It started to snow and frost bit chill, The light was fading; my fingers were numbed, A hill to descend, no time to kill, Again to him I had succumbed. 16 May 2013 This poem is based on Chapter 21 of the Book of Revelation and follows what happened to the traveller first met in The Rider on the White Horse. In both poems the reader is left to judge who the Mystic of Old really was, and what were the dates of the two encounters,