In days of yore they trimmed their wood,
creating idols that looked good,
but nowadays we realise
a lifeless doll no help supplies.
Instead we sift ideas, build
a house on sand, with bubbles filled,
which cannot last, or satisfy
not now, nor soon, nor when we die.
An edifice may stand awhile,
but soon will be a rocky pile,
if not on lasting pillars founded:
false notions disappoint, confounded.
The truth that claims it will not fail,
must not give transient appeal;
and never crumble, bear all stress,
worthy of trust, not just a guess.
For human words are all so fallible,
but words from God are wholly credible.
But some are angry, and can’t see
why if he’s God, he won’t decree
at once the things they feel he should,
that seem to them so very good;
they do not feel that he can be
a help to those in agony,
nor see the need for this delay
before all evil’s swept away,
and we all meet him on his day.
Their choosing to believe, or not,
won’t change the facts if true, a jot
Will they just toss it in the waste,
without investigative taste?