O come, O King—Desire of nations, come—
And make of us your promised lasting home.
Purge with your fire each hint of dross away,
And kindle lights across your whole domain
Until no corner of this mortal sphere
Remains in darkness and resists your reign.
Take up your scepter, rule from pole to pole
In true and perfect, everlasting peace.
O, Maranatha!—King of Glory, come!
I had in mind to post a different poem that’s been sitting on my desk for some time—and then this wouldn’t leave me alone until I got it down. And it’s eminently suitable for a Friday in Advent. And I now regret that I used the title “Advent” for an earlier poem.
As always, I earnestly welcome your (further) comments, suggestions (perhaps of a real title for this poem?), questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. If you liked this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (perhaps starting with those linked from one of the “archive” installments, since the full archive is by now, at over two hundred poems, somewhat daunting). You may also share this poem with others, subject to my sharing policy.
This poem is also mirrored on my wiki.