The aspirant, green, to the Lord doth say
according to my justice, by your hand grant me pay
For the Law he doth count a thing known to himself
as a writ profound, sitting high on El’s shelf
But the Law is to song as a bird is to flight
its contours distinct, but its course, beyond sight
To the aspirant, then, frustration is had
when he weighs his own deeds on a scale, good or bad
From their law naught but shame do the arrogant receive
but the humble grow richly if only they believe
For Grace comes by faith, as St. Paul does attest
The Song called by Logos, of itself, grants them rest
