|
Printer-friendly version THE FIELD MACHINE
Standing alone in the field I watch
As far as my eyes can see
Examining the current state
Of matters that affect you and me
The wind is very fierce these days
And the fan is in the Master’s hand
Only to see which ones bow
And by pride the ones who stand
The field has some genuine wheat
Along with some weary tares
But some of the wheat is among thorns
Choked with worldly cares
The field really has one Master
But there is another who claims to be so
One is the Lord of glory
The other a defeated foe
Lo and behold across the field
Something strange I see
It’s the Old Serpent behind the wheel
Of a grand piece of machinery
The machine looks very unique
Extremely modern of its kind
It gracefully moves through the field
Neither to plow or to grind
The machine appears intimidating
By its image and sophisticated sound
Its influence is greatly accepted
Among the wheat and tares all around
It makes sounds that form into words
Which could be understood if you hear
The machine is driven by the father of lies
And fueled by carnal fear
From its words I was able to hear
Unity it seems to amend
Telling me to avoid sound doctrine
And reminding me not to offend
The gimmicks and flattering titles
They each play a vital part
Combined with worldly wisdom
Forming the machine’s heart
Alone I serve the true Master
With His trusted Book in hand
Many say they believe it
But the machine is the law of the land
I was able to get a closer look
As the machine continues to go
On the side of it the words boldly read
“THIS IS THE STATUS QUO”
When the harvest finally arrives
And the Master gathers up His wheat
The tares, the machine, and its driver
Shall enter eternal defeat
Back to the Index
|