By Jordan Ellis Christensen (Rated G)
Crimson puddles fill the earth.
‘Hath man such noble worth?’
Man-whits lay upon the ground.
‘Art mad? Appearest unsound.’
Impaléd thrice doth blood flow.
‘For man which doth cause all woe!’
Left to die hang’d ‘pon a rood.
‘Lo, that mankind may be woo’d?’
O, lo, Bel, thy words be naught!
Behold the grave! Be distraught!
Thou art undone, doom’d to hell!
He liveth, with Him we dwell!
Laud, laud, laud we God; we live!
And lo, thou art greatly fell’d!