Get Me Wisdom

Given to me this day Friday 5th April 2019, by God, after having read: The Prodigal Son Returning Home to his Father”: A Sermon (1684) by John Dunton

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I might be nothing just rough pompous paper stuffing

Bumbaste they call it in the olden days of plays

“All wind and water” goes the format known as nowadays

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I might hike pride that likes itself above all other praise

And walk about surly appointed, eyebrows to upraise

Looking as if I know things, have a judgement to appraise

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Then I might gabble, bluster, poke a rapid don’t care phrase

And looking into a glass to compliment my prickly grace;

Shimmering in cocked hat for mitre; wrecking-ball for mace

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Then there’s the lecheries at work, planned avarice within

Coward assurance catechises me my ribald sin

Happy to pass slips over, set them by with smirky grin

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Contented, no, complacent, that even casual compromise

Might cover over comfortably and intersperse my lies

Seeing them still stood grossly full reflections in my eyes

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I have a rabbit warren circles; it contrives

A race I run through, gumshoe, with an intellectual ease

Hiding among the backwoods I don’t see the hanging trees

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Branched multiplying diversely here betake new catacombs;

Nor steady station-stop where condescends God’s only Son

Jesus himself unfolding there, his wealth working among

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Which wonders bending knee, I do acknowledge honest homage

Asking him, please have mercy please, repair this guilty damage

Just let me see Thee Lord again, and my defections manage

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Towards all bliss; that wild election makes such reckless fists

Preventing me, refrains my conscience; give me a life apart

In the blessing of your Countenance; so break my contrite heart

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