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To the Controllers, Bishops and the Like Be careful, Bishops, what you’d bottle up, What streams of living water you would dam: The Lord respects and fills each child his cup With special liquor from The Great I AM Even so the hapless beggar has his song Some streamlet from the mountain’s hidden spring Which might have been a river running strong Had but the man been given his right to sing. Too often those who wield their wand of power Obstruct God’s very flow and turn it sour Thus does His very grace become disgraced And plans of Love are thrown back in His face. For sometimes those appointed and approved Without discernment on some bishop’s part Fall into pride and surface quite removed From that anointing that bespeaks the earnest heart. Then envy springs up in the muttering flock Fingers are pointed at the favored son Then factions form, unfairness is proclaimed And churches split down to the weakest rock. So prone are hierarchies to pride’s foul sway, The word of faith becomes the only way.
Copyright © 2006 Gene Pinkney |