Clay of Babylon

Hearken, O clay, ye wrought of dust and breath,

Whose hearts are lulled by silver tongues and screens of light.

The mighty men ascend their towers of brass and iron,

While the poor faint beneath the weight of their devices.

The merchant kings cry, “Order out of chaos!”

Yet their order is bondage, their peace a cage of gold.

Behold the eye upon the hill, watching thee in thy slumber —

The image of pride set high, to make thee bow low.

Arise, O clay, thou art not made for idols of steel!

Thy soul shall not serve the beast of circuits and coins.

The breath of the Lord yet walketh among the meek,

And the sword of His word divideth light from deceit.

Woe unto the builders of Babel anew,

Unto the prophets of profit and the priests of progress.

For they forge their thrones in blood of the simple,

And call their devices salvation.

Cry aloud, ye remnant few!

Smite the idols of vanity with the truth of the Lamb.

For the kingdoms of men are ashes,

But the Kingdom of God endureth forevermore.

And when the iron breaks the clay,

And the false light dimmeth before the true,

Then shall the meek inherit the ruins,

And Christ shall reign where money cannot bind.