A mystery as old / As God (John Piper)

What greater gift, than that God take
    My mind, my heart, and turn
Them to the Son of Man, and make
    Me taste and see, and burn 
        With holy joy that he
        Would show himself to me. 

Clothed with a crimson robe, bound at
     His chest, around his heart
And lungs, the love-gashed habitat
      Of Life. O Christ, impart
          From ’neath this golden sash
          Breath from your boundless cache. 

His hair a woolen glacier, white
      As snow, vast, ageless, cold,
In airless, Himalayan height,
      A mystery as old
          As God, this ice defies
          The bright fire in his eyes. 

But not his feet. Like solid air,
      Translucent bronze, pure heat, 
As from a burning furnace, bare,
     They terrify the street.
          If all beneath is dread, 
          Do I not fear his tread?

His voice, the roar of myriad tons
      Of water, as a wall
Of crystal crashing like the guns
      On battleships that maul
         The beach, and haunt the day
         A hundred miles away. 

And in his hand, the hand that holds
      The universe, and plies 
Omnipotence, he thus unfolds 
      The boundless evening skies,
          And there kindly bestirs
         His cosmic messengers.

And from his mouth a two-edged sword,
      So sharp it severs light
From dark, as if they never warred,
      And pierces, in the fight
           With death, between the bone
           And marrow of a stone.

And then, at last, he comes to me.
      And as I fall, undone,
As if to die from joy, I see:
     His face, the blazing sun,
         Before me one sword-length,
         Is shining in full strength.  

--John Piper,
Seeing the Son of Man:
A Meditation on Revelation 1: 12-16

Image source: Eric Newton, Scenes from the Revelation of St. John, mosaic (1927), Our Lady & St. John Church, Chorlton, England, https://loandbeholdbible.com/2018/11/17/the-revelation-of-st-john-revelation-11-20/
Poem source