One thinks on Calvin heav’n’s own spirit fell;
Another deems him instrument of hell;
If Calvin feel heav’n’s blessing, or its rod,
This cries there is, and that, there is no God.
A transcendental tulip
is blooming in my garden.
Before the petals wither,
before affections harden,
I pray it may diffuse its scent –
so gloriously redolent.
Encouraging the faithful,
it blooms in any weather.
In sunshine or in shadow;
let us, elect, together,
enjoy its sanctifying smell
while warning careless souls of hell.
In Him we stroke the petal
That proves our own depravity:
the flower that declares our heart
apart from Christ, a cavity
where only evil may be found
by One who dares our depths to sound.
The second petal beckons
and sings of pure election;
where souls are freely chosen
by God’s divine selection.
(As yet not offered to the masses –
Unto whom His wrath now passes).
Thirdly shines the Limit
of Christ in His atonement:
benefits are thus withheld
in God’s eternal moment.
So let the worldling rant and bluster;
Raging will not dim the luster…
Fourth: shall the fallen Adam
hold out against omnIscience?
Will puny human being
Prevail in disobedience?
The Lord on high will hound you down –
His grace to place a golden crown.
Point five unfurls its essence;
as saints arise, and striving
shake off the dust and onward march –
though never quite arriving;
while God empowers to go the distance
Persevering with insistence.
Behold in full the blossom!
In Grace it shines, reflecting;
delighting in God’s wisdom,
the lead to gold perfecting;
Magnanimous floral alchemy
bestowing at last true liberty.