By
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Trumpet of gold, goblet of brass, Calling to angels on seas of glass, Vibrating melodies while hymns pass Over your golden throat. Instrument bold in court on high, Summoning worshippers in the sky, Heavenly choir, sweet by and by, Warbling your golden note.
Trumpet of gold, goblet of brass,
Calling to angels on seas of glass,
Vibrating melodies while hymns pass
Over your golden throat.
Instrument bold in court on high,
Summoning worshippers in the sky,
Heavenly choir, sweet by and by,
Warbling your golden note.
Oh, this is just…searching for a worthy word, Melody. Lyrical, elegant praise to Him. God bless you–love, Caddo
Heaven must be ‘magical’, to quite my theologically sensitive friend Caddo! 🙂
Yes, magical indeed!!! Can’t wait to see it, and live there! I’ve had fun with a couple of my sisters down here–describing “Camp Caddo”, our dormitory in Heaven. You’re welcome to join us–there’s plenty of room, and I won’t make you do chores or anything!!
Sounds great! I was beginning to think that the accumulation of tears in God’s special saving-up jar would require so much room that someone would have to be turned away. You reassure me on that point, and lay my mind to rest… 🙂
No problema–plenty of room for all of us silly sisters, and the “pantry” of saved-tears-jars!
Maybe He saves them to water the flowers??? 🙂
Hey, there ya go!!! Seriously–I think that makes more sense than anything.
The rhyme doesn’t harm the poem. On the contrary, it adds something of style.
Some should rhyme and some shouldn’t – the trick is to discover the difference, I guess!
If the poem wants to rhyme, let it.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
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