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Whether chariot of fire
Or cloud of thunder,
Ball of flame
Or wheeled wonder,
Whether ship from space
Or whirlwind sublime,
Flying machine unidentified
Or throne divine,
It matters not how
God comes near.
It matters alone
That He is here
When needed most,
However seen and not,
Or whether deserving
of what we got.
Glory, like a whirlwind
comes out of the sky,
A great rolling cloud
with an inner fire,
And for those with ears
who can still hear:
God sits upon His throne
no matter how dark.
Hold fast to all hope,
we still matter.
Somehow, someway He's
always working in our lives.
Ezekiel 1 and 10*
*His Glory comes and goes.
See this poem @ His Newsman
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