The Great White Throne

Once upon a time,

though time is a poor word for it, hardly a timeless term at all,

for time did not yet exist, time was not yet made -

there stood, upon the plains of eternity, like a mighty crag in a sea of stars,

an ancient throne and naught else.

This throne was untouched by the rust of endless ages 

and could not be subjected to the feeble, wobbly, wane of memory. 

The years of this ancient throne none could grasp, save One, but it too once was naught.

Like all things made it has a beginning; though, unlike a great deal of things,

this throne shall by no means come to an end. 

Upon this ancient seat is one,

the One, 

for He is the only One with whom we have to do. 

Long before He poured the waters into the basin of the sea,

or ran His finger through the trough of the valleys, 

or formed the night sky with the Word of His mouth - that lofty address -

He was once

alone. 

He who now sits enthroned on the hearts of men,

was once enthroned upon His own majesty alone;

for a throne - a mere seat - does not a King make.

He needed not the collective chorus of the wilderness to sing His praises,

nor the cries of men to devote Himself to;

for an endless era He simply was.

Father, Son and Spirit, cloaked with holiness, immortality, and beauty eternal, 

sit upon this ancient throne. 

The murmurs of men, barking of beasts, and ancillary actions of angels are but dust in the scales to Him;

for what can we bestow upon Him that He does not yet possess? 

He penned the course of history, won wars, weaned whales, named the nameless stars,

measured the breadth of our every breath,

and with His Word He sang all that is into existence.

All of creation is a hymn, all of creation is about Him;

A hymn about Him,

for from Him we do draw life, and breath, and everything.

For He Himself is Being; 

we are but becoming.