The Author of Peace

A Poem Inspired by 1 Corinthians 14:33

In realms where light eternal softly gleams,  

And shadows flee before the throne divine,  

There dwells the Sovereign Lord of hosts supreme,  

Whose word commands the stars in order shine.  

No chaos reigns within His holy courts,  

No discord mars the harmony of spheres;  

For He who framed the universe by thoughts  

Hath woven peace through all the circling years.  

From dawn of time, when formless void was stirred  

By breath of God upon the waters deep,  

Creation rose in measured steps, unblurred,  

Each element its destined place to keep.  

The sun and moon in silent dance obey,  

The tides in rhythmic pulse their bounds respect;  

The seasons turn in solemn, sure array,  

And tempests calm when once His voice directs.  

Yet man, alas, in Eden's garden fair,  

Heard whispers sly that promised godlike might,  

And chose the fruit of knowledge and despair,  

Exchanging peace for tumult, day for night.  

Then strife was born, and brothers shed their blood,  

And nations rose with swords in fury raised;  

Confusion spread like dark, devouring flood,  

While hearts grew cold and love itself was cased.  

But lo, the Almighty, in His boundless grace,  

Looked down upon the wreck of mortal kind,  

And sent His Son to every fallen race,  

The Prince of Peace, the Savior undefiled.  

In Bethlehem's humble stall the Child was born,  

Whose advent hushed the angels' joyful strain;  

"Glory to God," they sang on that blest morn,  

"And on the earth, good will to men again."  

He walked among the tempest-tossed and lost,  

Rebuking winds that lashed the Galilean sea;  

"Peace, be still," He spoke, and waves were crossed  

By calm that flowed from His authority.  

The leper cleansed, the demoniac made whole,  

The blind restored to gaze on heaven's light—  

In every deed, He mended broken soul,  

And turned the darkest chaos into right.  

Now to the saints in Corinth's bustling streets,  

Where tongues of fire and prophecy abound,  

The Apostle writes with wisdom pure and sweet,  

That God is not the source of jarring sound.  

For in the churches, gathered as one fold,  

Let all things be in decency and peace;  

Let prophets speak by turns, as they are told,  

And spirits of the prophets subject be.  

Confusion flees where order holds the reign,  

As when the master builder lays the stone,  

Each piece aligned, no overlap of strain,  

The temple rises firm, to God alone.  

So in the body, members great and small,  

Each gift employed according to its place;  

The eye not scorn the hand, nor foot the call  

Of head that guides with unconfounded grace.  

O blessed peace, that passeth understanding's ken,  

Thou fruit of Spirit, born of heaven's decree!  

Thou calmest storms within the hearts of men,  

And bindest brethren in sweet unity.  

No Babel's tower of tongues shall here arise,  

No envious strife divide the sacred band;  

But love's pure flame in every bosom lies,  

And edifies the church in every land.  

When worship lifts its voice in solemn choir,  

Let interpretation follow every tongue;  

Let all be done to kindle holy fire,  

Not self-display, but glory to the One.  

For God, the Author, hateth not the gift,  

But loathes the pride that turns it to a snare;  

In peace He bids the contrite soul to lift  

Its eyes to Him, and find His presence there.  

Across the ages, in cathedral vast,  

Or humble chapel 'neath the village elm,  

The faithful gather, freed from stormy blast,  

And feel the hush that calms the inner realm.  

No frantic clamor, no disordered cry,  

But measured hymns and prayers in cadence flow;  

As rivers meet in ocean's vast supply,  

So souls unite where living waters go.  

Behold the nations, torn by war's red hand,  

Where kings contend and peoples bleed in vain;  

If only they would seek the Lord's command,  

Confusion's grip would break, and peace remain.  

For He who stilled the waves on Galilee  

Can quell the tempests raging in the breast;  

In every heart that yields to His decree,  

The Author writes His peace, and grants true rest.  

Thus let the church, as pillar of the truth,  

Stand firm against the winds of every age;  

Let elders guide with meekness, not uncouth,  

And deacons serve with diligence and sage.  

Let women keep the silence in due place,  

As law itself ordains in sacred writ;  

For God is Author, not of shame or base,  

But of the order that His wisdom knit.  

O mortal souls, in pilgrimage below,  

Heed well the counsel from the apostolic pen:  

Pursue the things that make for peace, and know  

That God delights in hearts made pure again.  

Let every gift be used to build, not boast,  

Let prophecy and knowledge find their bound;  

In decency and peace, give up the ghost  

Of self, and let the King of Peace be crowned.  

When time shall end, and trumpets sound on high,  

And saints arise from dust in bodies new,  

Confusion's reign shall perish utterly,  

And peace eternal bathe the ransomed few.  

No more the clash of wills, no more the night  

Of doubt and fear that clouds the pilgrim way;  

But in the city where the Lamb is light,  

All things in perfect harmony shall stay.  

For God is not the author of confusion's brood,  

But evermore the fountain of true peace,  

As in the churches, in the multitude  

Of saints redeemed, His blessed reign increases.  

To Him be glory, honor, power, and praise,  

From age to age, through endless cycles bright;  

In Him alone the weary pilgrim stays,  

And finds at last the everlasting light.