Look at the birds, they have enough
They do not fret, nor hoard their stuff
The lilies neither spin nor toil
Are clothed in garments more than royal
Store up your goods in heaven’s crypt
Where neither moth nor thief corrupt
Don’t sleep, be dressed and stay awake
The Master comes, make no mistake!
And when he comes in search of fruit
No tenant may be dissolute No barren fig left un-dug round No talent buried underground No fruitless bough upon the vine
No goatskin burst with wasted wine
No darkened lamp, no debt unpaid
No tasteless salt, the banquet laid
More parables the Saviour told A gentle start, but then more bold
Of treasure hidden in a field Of harvest in a seed concealed Of reapers bringing in the sheaves
A shepherd seeks a lamb that leaves
Of fishers sorting out their trawl
Of sheep and goats at judgment call
Of foolish virgins who neglect To trim their lamps and then object When comes the bridegroom for his bride
They’re unprepared and locked outside Of king whose son was getting wed The feast was laid and fresh the bread
They have not come! Where are my guests?
Go fetch the poor, the ones not blessed
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