The Harvest is the end of the world
and the reapers are angels
- Mathew 13, 39
I saw the cherubim one summer’s night
Reaping it seemed a ﬁeld of endless wheat.
I heard their voices through the fading light
Wild, strange and yet intolerably sweet.
The hour such beauty ﬁrst was born on earth
The dawn of judgment had that hour begun
For some would not endure love’s second birth
Preferring their own darkness to that sun.
And still love’s sun must rise upon our night
For nothing can be hidden from its heat;
And in that summer evening’s fading light
I saw his angels gather in the wheat:
Like beaten gold their beauty smote the air
And tongues of ﬂame were streaming in their hair.
From Fire Sonnets, poems by Roger Wagner