The Pulpit

Down the isles of spiritual being

Above the congregational bands

Where eyes are focused for seeing

The excitement where the pulpit stands.

In prayer the ring of hands

Held tight for their brother’s and sister’s sake

Creating a circle of commands 

As the pastor with folded hands shake

And shouts his prayer so the angels can hear

While they fly through the House of God and peer

Into the spiritual eyes from this man of God

Creating an awakening nod

With all who dare to sleep 

Through the threshold of those who dare to sleep.

From his pulpit he shouts the word

To those who have heard

These scriptures never read before

In this House for all to explore

When Jesus died to set us free

All that day as His hands would bleed

And upon this darkened day would see

Generating a natural spiritual creed

As he died upon his gore

And the preacher shouting scriptures never heard before 

Into the spiritual eyes from this man of God

Creating an awakening nod

With all who dare to sleep

Through the threshold of those who dare to sleep.

Out of the pulpit fire and brimstone

And the word from the scripture flies

Through the congregation alone

With chills, frills and pleasureless cries

As the light shines through the rafters above

The downward motion of the clear bright skies

Descending motion of our Sacred Dove

And the demons upon our souls flee

Into the space where angels in glee

Shout the passages immortal to be

Help the pastor remember messages from God

Creating an awakening nod

With all who dare to sleep

Through the threshold of those who dare to sleep.