The smith melts down the brass
pours the liquid over the mold;
it hardens, then it cools
till the touch is smooth and cold.
The craftsman chisels fiercely
carving out the shape;
he forms into a lion
and holds it by the nape.
The priestess lays herself
upon the altar bed;
she gives herself to a worshipper
her expression blank and dead.
The parents reach the summit
to toss their child into the fire;
they say they offer gladly
but deep down they are liars.
The way of the idol worshipper
is hard and vain and sad;
they cry for help but never
does the idol make them glad.
The statue of wood or brass
is a carving made by man;
it can not hear, it can not speak
it has no Master Plan.
To those who follow such idol things
consider a Creator Who is real
He knows your name, knows your needs
and has power to save and heal.
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