The Tempests and the Idylls

The cauldron of history. The tempests, and the idylls, of the heart. The binding together of hope and meaning. The sacred fulfillment of man and the promise of his home in the world; fire that glows in the hearth. Sovereign operations of grace; and the steep ascent of the mountaineering will...
What could it mean to remove this mountain, slash that sea? What simple elocution of the flourishing mustard seed? See fire on the larch; a breathing of wings into the vast sky; and a plenary reaching-out, to grasp the minutes, as they go soaring wistfully by...
The dominion of God, stepping through time, in the weal of cyclical dreams, the prophetic starlight playing, forever gracefully, in the tops of the trees... As wine tipped from a cup, once brimming over, now drunken to the lees. We read meaning in the fall of the stars, and in the rites of spring.
'Tis all the invisible subtlety, of Spirit, star-sparkling in the rain of the world. The consciousness that God is. Easefully in the faculty of the breath. Espied in the columns of dust, and realized in the dreamt tenderness of love, sung within the several diamonded psalms of infinity, eternity, as in a reign of Glory in the Highest.