The War In Iraq And Belshazzar’s Last Supper

On The Anniversary
Of The War In IraqBelshazzar’s
Last Supper(A Poetic Look
At Daniel 5)

“Belshazzar ...
You have lifted yourself up against the Lord of heaven ...
You have praised the gods of silver and gold,
bronze and iron, wood and stone ...
and the God who holds your breath in His hand
and owns all your ways, you have not glorified ...
God has numbered your kingdom, and finished it.”
Daniel 5:23,26 Great Babylon the crown of Nimrod’s pride
The golden city lavishly supplied
With all that could debase, corrupt, deprave
Of wine and worship, sacrifice and slaves.
There sat the king amidst the groaning boards
Piled high to feed a thousand of his lords.
Then brash Belshazzar raised his cup and stood
To toast the gods of ornate stone and wood. But worse than all, the pagan wine was poured
To fill the golden vessels of the Lord,
Thieved from the Temple of the One True God
Whose sacred precincts holy priests had trod,
In better days when David’s lovely lays
Had risen like incense in their songs of praise.
And now the heathen dared to drink the cup
Which only God Himself had deigned to sup! But while the lords and ladies clapped and cheered
Their lips froze chill with fear when there appeared
The fingers of a man whose hand withal
Began to write strange words upon the wall.
The king waxed pale and terror shook his knees
Till Daniel preaching with prophetic ease
Declared that death and dreadful doom were nigh
For in that very night the king must die. The Mede was at the gate and on his way
With sword and spear and skill to seize and slay.
God kept His word and proved that it is true
For in one night Darius overthrew
The shrine of Bel and afterwards installed
God’s servant Daniel ruler over all.
The king of Babel well and justly weighed
In Heaven’s scales had failed to make the grade. And so the tyrant waits in frantic fear
As God’s avenging sword draws ever near.
For him the mystic writing on the wall
Spells death and doomsday when his kingdom falls.
His reign of terror must give way to peace
And every prisoner spring to his release.
The hungry children must be filled with bread
And Baghdad’s gates lift up their ancient heads. By Tom Summerhill