When feminism rears her ugly head,
The daughters of Jerusalem fall dead.
For glory in the fight for daily bread,
No more shall Faith or Hope or Love be wed.
But tears of sleepless brows are all they’re fed,
Until at last all song and life has bled,
All plundered by the chaos which they dread,
A fruit of the forbidden woman’s bed.
Though Wisdom calls, her answer is unsaid.
Her children off the path of faith are led.
To march in independence Christians tread,
Away from their Redeemer’s weeping fled.
Though fathers with their millstones sink as lead,
For them our Father’s banquet still is spread.
Our Husband takes our place, our life He pled,
Oh why do we the wedding garment shed?
This is a lament that poured off my tongue at the beginning of Advent, 2019 as I mourned the exaltation of faithlessness of the modern Western world.