The Silence

I long for days of yesteryear, when angels walked the land.
When cool winds blew and warm flames licked the mountain halls so grand,
When voices whispered from the earth and words appeared on stone,
When blinding pillars fell from heav’n and time through portals shown.
Today, instead, are heavens closed? Have angels gone and hid?
The stones now cold, the voices hushed, the shadows the light rid?
Prolific words of heaven’s throne replaced by leaky drop?
The silenced trump encased in gold? Do keys not open lock?
Will tokens, signs, and names endure, or will they vanish, too?
Will compass lose its magnet soon? Will rule its measure true?
No humming bees? No singing birds? No rustle in the grove?
The puny arm stretched forth indeed the Missouri mighty slowed?