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Thursday, 11 November 2010

‘O’ Ye that denied the truth, Shall not pass this gate.’


The day that the sky will be like molten brass,
And mountains will be like wool.
When mountains are scattered as dust,
By the winds sent forth,
One after another,
Which then blow violently
In the tempestuous gusts.
Then when stars
Become dim.
When heaven
Is cleft asunder,
The day, to where the
Rejectors of Truth shall
Not be able to speak,
The Day that the Trumpet
Shall be sounded.

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