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Morning over the bay

The Hour on Which We Look

Philip Britts

  • Gladys Brayer

    Death comes to us all, ready or not..young and old, and only God knows the hour and moment of our surely as it has come to each and every person who ever lived on this earth and I know we are here in this time and place for a purpose and we must strive to discover the gifts and talents given to us by our Creator..and the reason we exist. "The Hour On Which We Look" by Philip Britts touches me deeply and I stand in awe of his humble acceptance of a violent death with the assurance of rising into new life, and I wonder...will I be ready in my Last Hour? Will my soul be at peace? I wonder... The Song of Isaiah (Isaiah 26:13 - 19) is is of course, quite beautiful and inspiring..and "Song For The Present Day" as well..and is obviously written during a time of war and death walks the land. Yet, it serves to remind us that the King is calling...yearning to welcome us home. Thank you kindly for these needed in the world today!

The Hour On Which We Look

Now is the harvest of Death.
Now the red scythe-blade of slaughter
Sweeps through the children of Eve.
We stand in a circle of silence,
The wings of the Reaper are hissing –
And what could our speaking achieve? 

And we, as we stand in our silence
Hear the laugh of the sower of fate,
Who scattered the seed in the hearts of the tribes
And who reaps now the hate.

Only the music of a wild wind in the trees,
Or the rumble of thunder, the roar of the rain,
The shouting of demons who ride on the storm-winds of wrath
Can tell of the tempest that howls like a wolf on the plain;
Where the earth carried wheat, and the waters were sweet,
But now stink with the blood of the slain.


A Song of Isaiah (Isaiah 26:13 – 19)

We have had other lords, O God,
Who held dominion in our heart,
But Thou hast swept them all away
And in Thy place they bear no part.

The gods are dead – they shall not live,
They have gone down, and shall not rise,
For Thou hast swept their power away
And cast their glamour from our eyes.

Thy people labour in Thy sight,
Like women in the pangs of birth,
But all our labour is for naught,
We bear no glory in the earth.

But though we die, in Thee we live,
Nor can the earth hold down our trust,
Thy dew shall call us back to life,
Awake and sing who dwell in dust!


Song for the Present Day

He is speaking to the North, "O come!"
He is calling to the South, "Withhold no more!"
Come, O come, to where the King is calling,
Sending out a wind to wake the sleepers and the poor.

There is nothing that can bar your way,
Though the breaking may be blood upon the sand.
Lift your hearts, for hark, the wind is calling,
Breaking down the barriers, however high they stand.

There are rivers running strong between,
There are watches where the stars are never still,
Come, though, come, to where the King is calling,
Calling for a people in a City on a Hill.

In the tumult of a world of steel,
There's the whisper of a wind upon the street.
Rise, and come, though long and hard the journey,
Yonder is the City where the South and North shall meet.


two people standing on a rocky beach looking at a city
Contributed By Philip Britts Philip Britts

Farmer-poet Philip Britts was born in 1917 in Devon, England. Britts became a pacifist, joined the Bruderhof, and moved to South America during World War II.

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