A WOODEN PUPPET
Carved out of silver birch and painted so fine,
Can be clothed in quite a smart stylish line.
Eyes, mouth and ears that look almost real
Perfect limbs tied together, but he does not feel.
He can dance and walk and seem to run about,
He can make you laugh without any doubt.
He can blink his eyes and give a wide grin,
But his little wooden heart you cannot win.
For he is made of wood, not human at all,
He cannot sin, needs no saving from the fall,
But we are accountable for every little deed,
So not being made of wood our God we need.
The puppet does just as his clever master wills,
He pulls the strings, the puppet performs many skills
That delight the large crowds as they gaze in awe,
Then clap appreciation at the things they all saw.
But who is the master that pulls at our strings?
Is it the Saviour ? And so His praises we sing,
Or are we controlled by a much darker hand?
So building our lives on treacherous sand.
Let us be like clay in the hands of the Lord,
Follow His council and obey His sweet word,
Have a heart that is molded and nurtured in good,
Not unfeeling, like the puppets, made out of wood.
M Ann Margetson October 27, 2000 ©
2000/awooden
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