Mine is a cunning implement!
There is no thing which may
Deny me wielding it.
Yet I have an o'ercoming awe
At the thought that might I strain
The sea of my wisdom, even so
Might I catch a minnow!
Yet is cocksure faith I wield
This cunning implement. I deny
The convictions of sages. I make argument
With God and reorganize His creation
Upon a foundation of words.
I create a justice for man
Out of the stuff I fling forth as wisdom.
The implement which is mine is light,
O'erlight, I'm fearing, and should I
Fling it clear, desiring to decapitate
My brother, in an instant lo! am I beheaded!
Ah, 'tis a cunning implement
A-deed, my tongue!