Listen, you scarecrow, you mortal, you!
You may scare a crow or two,
or three or four . . .
but you'll not scare me—
not anymore.
I've stripped you
of those outworn rags of yesteryear . . .
oh, it's quite clear
I lost all fear
when I saw through
your empty disguise,
and became wise
to your nothingness.
Why, you're not man.
You're just a sham:
tattered and torn,
sad and forlorn.
To think I was in awe
of a mere jackstraw.
Love has opened my eyes!
Your infamous lies
with their false pretensions,
and painful sensations . . .
are gone forever!
Ah! Now I see
the man of God.
He's not a clod,
and not of the sod.
He's pure and whole,
the man of Soul,
joyful and free.
So, listen, you scarecrow, you—
now you're through.
The man that God has caused to be
is flawless, Christly;
and I am he!
