First Hour of Turning

                  In the days of the Judah kings
                  Heavens and the earth watched
                  As rebel children spat out manna

                  What a brood of disease and filth!
                  A backward people laden with sin
                  Even good grain, they corrupted

                  We also gnaw the gentle breast
                  Heads grow rotten with gluttony
                  While hearts remain unnourished

                  What mockery made us believe
                  We could bribe the king of heaven
                  Or hide in myrrh’s thick smoke?

                  Light candle, say a prayer rote
                  Sing the appointed hymn loudly
                  Bow and scrape, kiss the cross

                  What are these to a dark heart?
                  Empty delusions, death by lies
                  Futile efforts He will not endure

                  But if we wash one another
                  Returning again with thanksgiving
                  Learn and grow, give and love

                  Pound the sword into plowshare;
                  Eat of the fields the Lord has given
                  Or, ungrateful, be eaten yourself!

                  This is the first hour of turning
                  The river is at hand for washing
                  Clean eyes will cry tears of joy.

— David Dickens, Nothing Hypothetical