Classic Poem

This is the night my ship comes in.
The wine comes pouring down.
Glory and pain! The Angel's blood
Anoints the teeming town.
And the mighty flagship sways and dips,
And I thank my God with fevered lips.
My prophet brings a thousand ships
And the dream of a thorny crown.
He will lead these empty ships like sheep,
He will sail the hills of air,
He will find bold sailors, young as I
Who will love the scars of care —
The care that comes with crimson hands,
From pouring of the wine;
The wine of angels crucified,
The wine of demons crucified,
Brothers of Christ, all crucified
In the stars, and made divine.

We will lead our fleets through newborn skies,
We will scour each rebel world —
Till every lonely deck shall see
Strange prophet-scrolls uncurled
Till every lonely mast shall see
Strange prophet flags unfurled —
Till cataracts from the cups of God
Upon the stars are whirled.