image by Daniel Reche, on Pixabay
On Seraphim
Beholding them through heaven’s opened door,
(As once Isaiah when Uzziah died)
St. John said seraphim cease not to sing
Trisagion as with their beating wings
They orbit round the rainbow throne in rapt
Delight with all their many eyes agreed
And fixed upon the One in session there,
Whose footstool is the earth and yet exceeds
All space in his immensity, and light
In radiance, so that beneath four wings
Each seraph hides—with only twain they fly.
As each one cries out ‘holy,’ each returns
With ‘holy’ louder still until they all
Exceed to conflagration; after which,
As if new born, they all begin again.
Their ardor so devours them that they
Must only vaguely know of us at all
And what they know cannot much interest them.
What condescension—oh what pain it was
(at least we must suppose) when light of light
Bid one of them to turn, to pause the hymn,
And cauterize a prophet’s lips with coal.
And yet to which of them did God pronounce,
‘Thou art my Son… I have begotten thee.’?
Scripture references: Isaiah 6: 1-7, Isaiah 66:1,
Revelation 4:8-11, and Psalm 2:7
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D. N. Keane has a Ph.D. from the University of St. Andrews and teaches in the English Department
at Georgia Southern University. His verse has
appeared in Lighten Up, Better Than Starbucks,
Earth & Altar, and The Slumbering Host (Little
Gidding Press, 2019). More of his work is available at drewkeane.com
November 2024 issue
An amazing poem by D. N. Keane.