Placeholder: If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face. If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.

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@generalpha

Prompt

If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.

large hands

2 years ago

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Model

Luna Diffusion

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

608 × 912

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If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d, Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such a questionable shape
[art by Slipknot] In the ethereal stillness of the celestial realm, Metatron, the chief of winged angels, descended. His radiant wings shimmered like starlight, casting a celestial glow across the heavens. Suddenly, a tremor rippled through creation. God struck the three hundred and ninety heavens, and they quaked in reverent awe. From His eyes, tears flowed—hot as molten fire—cascading down like fiery rain into the vast ocean below. The waters stirred, roiling with sorrow as waves ignited in a
If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.
Michael archangel
If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.
Dahlia, angel of righteous demise, Traces with her scythe a five-pointed star— A prison to bind the demon in his tracks. Raising her blade to the gloomy skies, She invokes her sacred, fearsome role— "I am the goddess of the dead and damned!"
An archangel sent to earth does away with all pagan and commercial influences that corrupt Christian Easter, in the eternal struggle between good and evil...
If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call, Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows, To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.
Dahlia, angel of righteous demise, Traces with her scythe a five-pointed star— A prison to bind the demon in his tracks. Raising her blade to the gloomy skies, She invokes her sacred, fearsome role— "I am the goddess of the dead and damned!" Eyes shut, she summons ancient magic And feels it swell, electric, through the soil— The pentagram glowing with arcane light.
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