That Jewish Cult
by Curtis C. Wynne, © 2000

In the forest, by the river,
   A bearded prophet cries;
Many souls will halt and quiver
   Before his message dies.

A cult, a Jewish cult, they say,
   Was born beneath a dove --
A sign, the Voice of God -- that day,
   "A Jewish cult of love."

He came to save us all, they said,
   The Savior prophesied.
But signs and deeds were still ahead;
   "It's best the cult just died."

His life so perfect, that we see,
   His love so real for all;
But much still lacked in prophesy
   "That Jewish cult should fall."

On the cross, yet in His glory,
   The Son of God was nailed.
For me He died, but not His story;
   The cult destroyers failed.

His flock to cats in dens they fed,
   Tortured every one
Who loved their Lord, alive they said,
   The cult still had the Son.

Before He left they heard Him say
   He'd send a Comforter.
He'd be back as well that Day,
   As many say they're sure.

His Glory shines around the world,
   Remembering His Day;
Ten thousand angels' wings unfurled
   As millions bow to pray.


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