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Balwone Trilogy
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Poems By Geoffrey Bingham

Geoffrey Bingham

God's Moral Excellency
Show Us Your Glory
I Am the Adam

God's Moral Excellency

How beautiful Your glory, Father God,
How lovely are Your ever-flowing words,
How precious are Your kindly thoughts as new
They drop within our souls as gentle dew.

How comely is Your Law oh Holy God,
That tells the good intent of every word
That comes from You into the heart You made,
And show it as Your glory first displayed.

How sad the loss of that high glory given
To Man created from the throne of heaven.
All beauty fled, and from the heart true law
Seemed lost to lawless Man for ever more.

Oh glorious Man who suffered on the Tree,
That glory lost afresh our glory be;
You there the loveliness of God displayed
As for our sin you strong atonement made.

How mild Your Spirit is towards the mind
That would its fullness in Your fullness find,
Until the symmetry of all its soul
Find glory in the love that makes it whole.

Now Father may our spirits holy be
In righteousness and justice flowing free.
In mercy and in kindness unto all,
In love to those who from Your glory fall.

Now thank we all our God in holy joy;
Now do we all new faculties employ
To praise Your name in Whom alone we boast
Beloved Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Geoffrey Bingham, Kingswood, 21/12/99


Show Us Your Glory

Show us Your glory, Spirit of God,
Show us Your beauty, tell us your Word,
Show us the Wonder planned before time
To give us Your splendour, Your glory Divine.

Show us the glory Primal Man knew,
Show how the worship flowed back to You;
Show how You breathed true life into dust,
Free of all evil, free of all lust.

Show us the Godhead, holy, sublime,
Ever subsisting as Love Divine;
Each in both Others, One in Their love,
The Son in the Father and both in the Dove.

The Dove in the Father, The Son in the Dove
The Three in the Unity of Divine Love.
This glory God flowed into created Man
To make him a family, a glorious clan.

Time tells us the story-the serpent's high pride,
Man stung with this poison, relationally died,
His love became self love, true love from him fled,
And Man the chief sinner lived as one dead.

The story is glorious, how God in His love
Sent His Son Jesus to us from above,
To live in our sorrow and die in our pain,
His Cross our salvation, his death not in vain.

The height of His purpose was planned before time
To bring us to glory of body and mind
To shape us in image to be like the Son,
To crown us with glory, and make us all one.

The creatures celestial all shout with delight,
And we with them worship in joy and all might,
'God's plan has succeeded, we're one with our God,
Redeemed unto glory by Christ's loving blood.'

Then glory to Him who glorified Man,
Who gave him the life of eternity's span
All glory to Father to Son and the Dove
Who've taken Mankind to the heart of Their love.

G.Bingham, Kingswood, 26/4/99


I Am the Adam

I am the Adam. I am my father

As the father of my sonship,

The Adam as of old.

I am the innate gardener

Kneeling in the sweet soil,

Seeding and planting

Bringing flowers of ineffable beauty

And worshipping as kneeling,

Kneeling as worshipping.


Around me is the rare beauty,

Yet not rare but commonplace

Since rarity is the little seen and felt.

Here I see all, from my kneeling

Whilst the fragrance steals through

Leaves and flowers and branches

And overwhelms with

With a rich delight,

A sturdy stability of being,

An assurance that all this beauty

Is the gift of love from above.


Here love is in the feathered creatures,

In the movement of furred fauna,

In the bright eyes gleaming

And the delight of ceaseless play.

No creature fears. I do not fear.

There it was Eden's delight.

Here, in this suburban garden

Nostalgia prevails.

I am a suburban Adam,

A tiller of the soil, a lover of flora,

And deep passion for the beauty

Once lost to Eden, yet Eden's here

In this front garden, the back yard,

The shivering of leaves under breezes

The plaintive call of the blackbird,

The crowding of sparrows,

The chittering and the chattering

Of finches and the shrill sky call

Of the passing rosellas, the harsh

Crying of the cockatoos

Out of the pure blue welkin.


Here in my suburban Eden

The memories crowd

More potent even than the sparrows

Intent on the largesse we give them-

My wife and I. The memories crowd

Of Mother Eve and Father Adam-

Our progenitors, lovers of the

Singing, humming bees in Eden's flowers

And the other creatures singing too

Over the abundant nectar, love's provision

Above the translucent water

That laughs in its passing

Or reposes under the ferns and the

Sky-reaching tall trees

Balled with beauty, fruiting,

Good for food and pleasant to the eyes.


I am Adam but I have no tree

Pleasant to the eyes

And designed to make one wise,

The tree of the knowledge

Of the good and evil. Sadly

The fruits of that tree

Shattered the innocent beauty,

The careless rapture and laughter and joy

The Father-loving simplicity.

Even to this day in my bones

Is the shock of high climbing desire

To be as God. I who was like him

Desired to be as him. My foolishness

Forfeited for me

The bliss of that garden. Expelled,

I was a gardener without gain

A gardener of terrible loss.

Even now the fragrance steals at times

Like a legion of roses liberated

By the flushing wind of the Eden's love

To tell me afresh of my created joys,

My sheer delight in living,

My no pondering with fear

That I was not beloved.

Beloved I was. Today I kneel

In the ancient earth, tamed anew

By the love that still bewilders me

From a leafless tree, a dried timber Cross,

The tree of life that fruits itself

In wounded hearts that heal

From Calvary's balm. Dear blood!

Dear Christ, dear Holy Father

Dear, dear beloved Spirit. Dear Three

All busy about that Tree

My knees that sink into this earth

Begin my worship moment.

Moment expands as the fragrance

Of roses whose life began

In far off Eden. Man in his love of them

Has conjured up new colours,

New varieties from the old

And their fragrance invests my mind

With rich nostalgia.

My nostrils drink of beauty

Once at its zenith in the old garden.

I am my father Adam and my wife's the Eve

And we both labour gladly

In our small and crowded garden.

We drink the sweet smells of those bygone days,

And memories revive the dream

Of the new Eden, the coming delight

Of new Adam and new Eve

Of the river of pleasures, the trees

Always laden with delectation,

Its leaves the ever-reminder

Of the whole and holy healing

From past pride of being, as though

We were as God-this woman wife and I-

In the foolishness of imagined deity.


All this comes to me as I kneel-

The innate gardener,

The true worshipper

In the sanctuary of a walled garden,

The eventual Eden glimpsed

In the comparative present,

The dear anticipation

Of the garden of love to be.

Geoffrey Bingham, Kingswood, 8/3/97



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