The Eagle's Doom

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Hail to thee proud eagle on thy rocky throne, a'top the mountain wilderness thou makest home. Now hark as He who made the Sun and moon draws nigh to freeze thy heart with words of doom. And tell the number of thy days, cut short by man's appalling greedy ways

Well mayest thou flap then soar and glide, aloft the lively countryside. And focus down with stony stare that penetrates full mile of mountain air. So through the morning's misty haze, espy small furry creatures as they graze. On greeny shoots raised by the Sun, then swoop and snatch them as they play and run . . .

Alas, for thus the foul and potent brew spread by the farmer on the things he grew. Bids death ascend the living chain from grass and grain -- and seep inside and rot thy brain . Then snare they hairy offspring in his chalky womb, affording thus his putrefying flesh a pretty tomb . . .

And now o'man who does these deeds, take heed and tremble as thou readests. Know this, and know it well, that He who made the eagle's eye sees thee and all thy greedy grasping ways, whose only value is what pays. Soon shall He swoop with mighty wrath, and seize they neck and shake thee like a dirty cloth

And lay great weals across thy back, until the shell of human nature crack And let the Holy Spirit in, that thou mayest kneel and weep and worship Him . . .
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Then shall He change the eagle too, no more to feed on mouse and shrew But like the lion with the lamb, to live at peace with God and man.