A Thought Before Sunday

This simple building just might catch the eye
Of the curious as he's passing by.
And if the day and the hour are right,
A strain of music or a voice just might
Tickle his ear before he turns to go,
And continuing on he'll never know
That what he scarcely heard had matchless worth:
The sacred meeting of heaven and earth.
Or if by chance he should open the door
His earth-dazzled eyes will see nothing more
Than four bare walls and a few graying heads,
A wooden cross, carpet showing its threads.
His blind eyes won't see the glorious throne
Topped by a rainbow like a precious stone.
His deaf ears won't hear peals of thunder,
The voice that would make him bow in wonder.
In place of the carpet, a sea of glass,
Flaming creatures one sees if one looks past,
Or perhaps around, the bowed heads of gray;
He'll take lightning's flash for the light of day.
As our curious seeker turns to go,
Uncomprehending, it's to his own woe
His ears did not hear, nor his blinded eyes see
He was in the presence of Majesty.