Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Angels Preserve The Word

A grey angel holds a bible and light,
while standing in front of a cross.
"But of that day and that hour knoweth no man; no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son but the Father." Mark 13:32

Description of the animations: two versions of this angel by Kathy, one in grayscale the other in blue. This angel stands at the foot of the cross holding a light in her right hand and a Bible in her left. She is there to preserve the Word and defend the cross.

"The "desire to look into it." With all their powers of investigation, will all their vast knowledge, here was a matter that the angels had not fathomed, and they greatly desired to know. Yet scientists sometimes feel that they are so busy as to have no time to study this salvation. They are busy at studying the structure of crystals. Why, angels know all about them. They saw particles taking their positions. These men are busy investigating the strata of the rocks. Why, the angels saw the upheaval of the rocks which so diversified and distorted the strata. They were then at the formation of the earth and have witnessed all the changes. The brightness of the sun does not baffle their vision. These men are busy unweaving the rays of light. The angels heard God when He spoke: "Let there be light." All these things which so deeply concern these scientists are plain as "A B C" to the holy angels, who, nevertheless, so desire to see into the plan of salvation, that subject which the scientist deems of so little importance." Bishop M. Simpson, D. D.

A blue angel holds a bible and light,
while standing in front of a cross.
Now from the hill the cloudy curtains rolled,
And in the lingering luster of the eve,
Again the Savior and His seraphs shone.
Emitted sudden in His rising, flashed
Intenser light, as toward the right-hand host
Mild turning with a look ineffable,
The invitation He proclaimed in accents
Which on their ravished ears poured thrilling, like
The silver sound of many trumpets heard
Afar in sweetest jubilee; then, swift
Stretching His dreadful scepter to the left
That shot forth horrid lightnings, in a voice
Clothed but in half its terrors, yet to them
Seemed like the crash of heaven, pronounced the doom.
The throne uprose majestically slow;
Each angel spread his wings,
And angel's voices, and the loud acclaim
Of all the ransomed, like a thunder-shout.
by James A. Hillhouse

"May It Be" Celtic Women

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