Lord, forge me a temper of metal in Thy hand,
brazen and courageous, a hammer of faith
which smashed against senseless abstractions
will crack them to shattering, and remain intact.
That this crude ore You mined of carbonous organs,
be smelted and poured into something of wonder,
pured by consumption in suffering’s crucible,
and annealed in reason, to all fallacies unyielding.
That I when quenched, will glimmer in Thy fist,
and gleam with adamantine affection for Truth
which heresy’s acids can not etch nor corrode.
That Lord, my elements ring with Thy name,
and like clapper to bell will peal out the same,
reclaiming Your foundlings from townships around.
No two-penny sinner too small for the Builder,
nor useless when bended by weakness of will;
what is dear to the Carpenter is mended again,
and driven by His Word will gird up the seams,
raise aloft beams for our Cross-borne Redeemer.
So all crooked pins and wicked things be warned,
and all sinister nails who prick out their tails
to gash open faint flesh and taint a man’s hope:
that hammers will strike, will straighten them yet
that all their absurdities, perversions and curses
will die on the Anvil which no lie can damage,
and vanish to ravage the pious no further.
 

Copyright © 1998, Claudio R. Salvucci.  All Rights Reserved.