Come praise the King of Color, who enchants the Earth
with overflow of joy and paints all with His worth.
Each tinge, yellow, red, or blue, is a tiny bard,
a glory-story herald set to sing and guard
the numinous awe of God. The wonder of the Lord
lifts the familiar fog of selfish souls grown bored.
Imagination breaks the blindness that besets
the heart bereft of awe that all too soon forgets
that color wakens joy in God’s romance of hues.
So, spare no waking glance and give the Lord His due!
Come praise the Color King who painted with His hands
His pure delight in white on winter wonderland,
in silver glow of moon that lights the silent night,
in jewel encrusted snow that crowns the Northern heights;
and in the color green, that thick and luscious joy,
that grassy sense of growth. The Maker used this toy
to deck the hills. His emerald storm soaked tree and glade,
so all might marvel at His mastery of shades.
Go walk the wooded halls, for in them ever rings
the chief-end choir’s song, the music of the King.
Song dominates the day in symphony of blue.
An azure cloak each dawn is donned by dusk anew
and fringed with minas light, transforming world of grey
with yellow. Triune God put joy on full display
in amber leaves that fall and beams of lemon light
which call the longing heart, the dead to flee the night.
In ancient days, in Eden’s halls, He clothed in red
the apple, sunset’s treasured tone, bright word unsaid
that speaks of scarlet shed and our redemption wrought.
Ere time began, blood’s hue was ever in His thought.
Oh, praise the rainbow’s Source. The Fountain did not spare
a single tint or tone, for all the spectrum bears
His beauty. Even clear unveils, for new
He crowns each morning-realm in diadems of dew.
Crystal adorns the ferns with diamonds dazzling.
Yes! even the uncolor is I AM’s plaything.
I bid the blind awake; and let the bored heart see
the awe of the mundane—familiar fantasy.
Rejoice sea, sun, and sky! Let good gifts draw the eye;
they beckon up the beam to creation’s Adonai.
Oh, feel the vibrant glory—orchestra of hues.
Come join the chief-end choir and give the King His due.
Poem taken from the 2021 edition of Artos, the literary journal of Bethlehem College & Seminary students. Photo by E. Boyum, College Student.