Feeling powerful and supreme,
On his self-righteous throne,
Shaking a bony fist at God’s commands,
With heart as cold as stone.
Angels salaam in worship,
Before God’s holy face,
While man stands stiff-necked,
Pride intense, feeling no disgrace.
But comes the time for him to die,
And encounter this God of might,
In whose face he shook his God-formed fist,
When his strength was at its height.
His frail frame will die one day,
Though immortal he may feel,
May self-pride be put away,
For he, too, one day must kneel.
Whether we obey God’s laws or curse them,
As we flounder along life’s course,
Will determine how we bow before Him,
In humble reverence, or deep remorse.