The Song of the Seraph of San Francisco
By Mary Esther Crump
great planes come and go,
over the necklace bridges flashing their
under the stars that dip low
in the curved Pacific
and blaze more stately
than plane-twinkle or city-glow,
great planes circle slow.
one night recently,
advancing from Far to nearer far
through the Eastern deep,
a live Star moving intent
hastens toward the Occident:
never has such Light illumined western land
Now Heaven, knowing Earth's distress,
assays in man's extremity
— Yes Yes O Yes —
and now, approaching our planet's night,
one of the Lord God's Seraphim
comes, Ambassador sent from Him,
to implement a cosmic Plan
in behalf of the Family of Man.
From afar the Light is bright dazzling white.
nearer, makes poised pause,
coronal colour shows:
fiery gold-white from the vast heart flows,
blue-white like a two-edged sword outthrusts
throat through space,
violet-white around the princely head in a
The quality of these intermingling lights is
all of them together are of the colour
and from the nimbus' lofty centre shines a
of lively grace
toward mankind to release
Clear through the near reaches
while the great Brotherhood of Light
swift the Lightbearer approaches the destined
pauses the Seraph over night-cloaked Earth
over bright-yoked San Francisco
where great planes reached a destination
where brave hopes sought a consummation
where men of goodwill in free cooperation
attending the embattled birth
of a planetary aspiration
joined in a new project, noble to dare
against the scourge of war.
They planned from heart's height
Acknowledging dire need.
They moved from minds' might
Surviving. But not winning.
A time is full indeed
and Earth's care becomes Universe's Care
as the Seraph towers over the Light-flooded
Then, lifting his triple wings
verging his steadfast Eye
from the spangled sky
to radiate humanity,
the fiery One sings.
This is the song He sings:
into Earth's night.
stars of greater magnitude
stars of lesser magnitude
how We love them!
How We love them all.
like grapes on autumn-brown-speckled
like poems on the fringe of human awareness
just right just ripe for the plucking—
I would reach
I would pluck
I would gather
I would distribute
their light- and life-bringing potencies
for the healing of the
nations of Earth.
I reach for you,
Reach to Me.
O tired nations of scarred Earth,
I gather for you.
Gather to Us.
O buffeted nations of suffering Earth,
how We love you!
How We love you all.
Into western sky I reach.
I grasp of the massed virtues of the stars.
With mind and heart I garner of them
naming and loving as I tap
the free flowing Energy-sap of them.
dearest of them,
Love I harvest
steadfast in the Great Bear waiting,
Peace I gather in burgeoning abundance,
striding with Orion magnificent
triumphant messianic forgiving over the
con brio from her lyre down-sweeping
arpeggios of festival
glissandos of plenty:
the brightest the best of the Sons of the
the peerless the true the altogether lovely,
our ever living
once and future
crackling across millennia of lightyears
with vigorous vast vitality:
for Courage. For courage
abundant is here in drear dear
Earth. And where Courage is, Freedom
yet lacking will come
enough and to spare
to transmute Earth in swift shift to
for Freedom do I reach. Nor
from Regulus, DEDICATION
from Aldebaran, INTEGRATION
from Sirius, ILLUMINATION
this One and
that One and
all the shinning
stars and the planets:
naming the names of them
in the one Name
(great NAME of the Lord of the Universe),
I reach out and pluck of
their light and
I pluck for the
healing of the
This poem was written during the organizational meetings of the United Nations which convened in San Francisco, California on April 25, 1945. In the words of the writer, "I followed those sessions avidly, partly because I had shared a dream of world peace with my girlhood friend Pauleen Frederick, who in 1945 was a correspondent on international affairs with the ABC radio and was doing their hour-to-hour radio reporting from San Francisco. One evening as I listened to her, I became aware of a great Light hovering over the area, downward inclining toward the Cow Palace (where the meetings were being held) and beaming its Rays into each of the gathered delegates. It was a vivid image, and I began writing down whatever comments I could before it would fade. These jottings turned out to be a long poem, the title of which would be 'The Song of the Seraph of San Francisco'". Published in The Beacon July/August 1990 & Sept/Oct 1995 and re-published here with the kind permission of Lucis Trust.