Oh religion’s obsequious eye
To audit all,
That they not stray but yet comply,
Edicts to thrall.
What we once blessed in piousness
Is now much gone;
To glaze like praise on lips rehearsed
Among the throng.
And now we worship pagan things,
That cross seems odd;
Where goods, not gods, salvation brings,
By gold—we’re awed
When once we dreamt of righteous might
These dreams seem worn,
Yet still for some, He rises bright,
And Hope drags on.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
Loubert S Suddaby poems 