The sermon # Ralph Waldo Emerson

The lectern  it stands empty now  
the whispers quiet when once there were shouts  
of fire and brimstone filled gods house  
the orator that preacher stood, proffered that book formost  
parables to shame our sinful lives  
that we unwothy regard ourselves with self despise  
bees and natures best    
that we should seek like honeyed text  
and even the meek Rhodora bush  
 gives solace when we are vexed  
creation spelled in graphic sylables, pofound, perplexed  
the devil tempts us with his sweets  
the bottle full of deamon drink  
temperance to quench that thirst so deep  
to covet perhaps your neighbours wife    
naked truth that the unfaithfull lead  
and stripped behind a pious face  
the tryst of shame and barefaced cheek  
to lift above the mundane plane  
from the grey of forever saved  
and to seek a glee a trancendental phase  
for reasons cherubims new flight  
 and a euphoria of right  
shake the citadels of faith  
theology with a flaming torch    
philosophy, to not be contrite