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Bishop, Bishop, Primate, Primate |
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Reflections on the never ending argument...
Bishop, bishop, primate, primate were your holy hands in prayer? Squabble squabble; verily it's very late for you to care.
The sands of time have run their course the geni from the bottle outed the office severed from its Source the calling flouted.
Rt. Rev. Humpty had his fall the egg cannot unscrambled be the church drinks vinegar and gall drifting in unholy sea.
Peace in pieces, gone for good no turning back to better things no patching up, if e'en we would; no singer sings
Vacant shrines, broken walls litter the time of vanished faith remnants of an ancient Fall, sans ghost, sans wraith.
For how can worthy worship rise, the sovereignty of God unknown displaced by wordy enterprise but tares are sown?
Copyright © 2003 Harold Macdonald - used with permission |
