The Spirit of the Prophets Listen and Remain Blessed. From the beginning, when silence clothed the skies, And earth was formless, void, and dark. There moved upon the waters, unseen yet sovereign, The Breath of God, the Holy Ghost, Whose whispers birthed the dawn of worlds, Whose sigh became the first song of creation. It is He, the ancient River of fire, The unseen Flame that burns without smoke, The hidden Voice in the whirlwind, The eternal Wind that bends the cedars of Lebanon. Not bound to temples made with hands, Yet filling prophets with thundered speech, He broods where hearts are torn open for light. The prophets of old walked not alone Elijah’s lips caught fire on Carmel’s height, Isaiah’s tongue was touched with a coal of heaven, Jeremiah wept with the burden of nations, Ezekiel saw wheels within wheels, And Daniel dreamed where lions bowed to glory. Each vessel frail, yet filled with a Voice That was not theirs, but His. The Holy Ghost is the secret ink of prophecy, Etching eternity on mortal scrolls. He takes the timid shepherd, and sets his staff aflame; He grasps the fisherman, and makes him a herald of seas; He wrestles with men in night-visions, And crowns their