"May I cover my eyes, Lord?" the minister cried,
"I must be confessing,
My view is distressing.
I'd rather that my eyes were
dried."
"May I cover my ears, Lord?" the counselor pled,
"The wailing and crying,
Is stressful, and trying.
I'd rather have silence instead."
"May I cover my mouth, Lord?" the preacher
implored,
"The message rings hollow,
And no one will follow.
I'm tired of being ignored."
So be it, you foolish, young children of
stone.
Your eyesight be blinded,
Your ears be of lead,
And, lest you be minded,
Your words be unsaid.
Your limbs all be fettered,
Your heart quickly rust,
And, lest you be bettered,
Your soul turn to dust.
And when you have found
All your miseries drowned,
You hard-headed fools will have sunk, all
alone.
