Dec 24, 2017 | Bible Story, Corona, Gus Stevens, Letters to the Churches, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet
EPHESUS These are the words of the first and the last who holds the seven stars in his right hand. The cloudless mornings now are overcast and the first light of your golden lampstand though not yet a shade, now darkens, dwindles. You know the heft of love and quiet...
Dec 20, 2017 | Advent, Bible Story, Corona, Gus Stevens, Letters to the Churches, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet
These are the words of the first and the last who holds the seven stars in his right hand. The cloudless mornings now are overcast and the first light of your golden lampstand though not yet a shade, now darkens, dwindles. You know the heft of love and quiet work;...
Dec 20, 2017 | Advent, Bible Story, Corona, Gus Stevens, Letters to the Churches, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet
The High King has come and he knows your deeds; he knows that you are neither hot nor cold. All this he knows, and still he intercedes as priest before the throne of grace. Behold the man upon the cross. Both God and Lamb. He binds all peoples in one heart and mind;...
Dec 20, 2017 | Advent, Bible Story, Corona, Gus Stevens, Letters to the Churches, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet
Those blood-bought names he never will blot out. Long have been the years of our pilgrimage and the herds have withered in the drought. Still the shepherd leads and calls for courage. He leads them to an uncrossable sea and standing upon that desolate shore he...
Dec 19, 2017 | Advent, Bible Story, Corona, Gus Stevens, Letters to the Churches, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet
A secret white stone bearing a new name for those who keep no secrets with Jezebel. Wise as serpents they do not try to tame the Great Dragon with tongues nor ancient spells. Of such “knowledge,” be innocent as doves and mind what you allow into your bed....
Dec 19, 2017 | Advent, Bible Story, Corona, Gus Stevens, Letters to the Churches, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet
Hold fast to what you have until I come. You have the look of one who is alive but the tips of your fingers have grown numb and leprous white; you are dead. Now strive to wake from this unfeeling ruined dream. You slumber though a thief is at your door whose fiery...
