Pity, the Monastic Life

 

    Oh how I pity the monastic life

    The mother church your only wife!

    Contemplation, contemplation

    Too much means life’s ablation.

   

    "Speak not, and from all detach"

    What fool  this plan did hatch?

    What fool makes of himself

    God’s puny mitered elf?

   

    Cut off from what is real

    “Trust not what thou doth feel.”

    Wisdom ye seek, that is grand.

    How can ye see, head in sand?

       

    Oh, of the joys you’ll never know,

    And the places you’ll never go.

    What a sad shame, you’ll never taste

    Life’s sweet bounty, gone to waste.

   

    More’s the pity, the monastic life:

    Such devotion to the lack of strife.

    Were it engaged, this zeal for peace,

    Might actually make evil cease.

   

              ~ Matt Terry ~

 

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