Poetry

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Oh where, oh where have all the Luthers' gone?
Too many content with the role of a pawn
Conform and be quiet the call of the age
Do not critically examine, you are no sage

Know your role, and submission your place
Dare not to question, but humble your face
The Church, The Church, your mother to heed
On your mother's traditions is where you must feed

Exegesis, exegesis, but only if it agrees
You, being one, are not the one who sees
Hold your tongue, you have taken a vow
Conscience be suppressed, to authorities to bow

Legitimate controversy, a mortal sin for sure
Disturbing dogmatic slumber, church discipline the cure
Defer to those who know better than you
You cannot read the Bible correctly in the pew

Alas, alas, my soul cannot rest!
I cannot confess to that which is not best!
To God's Word is where I shall give an account
The inspired, infallible, inerrant words I will mount

Radical, unteachable, unsubmissive the call
Pay no heed, God's truth is greater than all
Good, though many men's writings may be
To Christ and His Word is where I must flee

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