In the Court of Glory

The innocent cloak of gray was rent asunder, giving view to the fiery waters beneath. Inch by inch, flames reach to encircle the dome; beyond where they touch, the mantle is a pale, ethereal blue. Ribbons of fire ripple across the space where it was hottest; only there was no heat. As in relief I breathe the delicious air in long sighs, the aspect changes. It is no longer a river of threatening waters. In one place all the power seems to be collected; concentrated, but so strong that even the mountains are kissed with rose. I would call it Glory. The shimmering light seems to form a gateway; open, but my eyes have not the strength to see beyond. Through such intensity of beauty I almost expected to see "a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer." (Rev 6:2) It was, to my earthly mind, fit for such an entrance. But soon, this too faded and just before the sun rose, all was serene. Only a gentle blush remained, as though the Painter's hand had calmed the storm of color, and He had said, "Peace, be still".