Circus Knife-Thrower

Salvoes in Faith

I heard you use the Word

And I looked it up as well

And I felt the sting of shame

And I feel that I must tell

That you used it out of order

That you hurled it like a blade

And the cutting brought no healing

Only schism, Slewfoot-made.

And the shame I feel, for Jesus

He deserves our loving touch

We, His Body meant to comfort

We, His purchase costing much.

Yet you drag us to contention

Where the intellects abrade.

Friend, I will not go there with you

To the pot-hole you have made.

Take a look and see your face there

On the waters, looking back.

It is darkened now by censure

And the graces that you lack.

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